


Hell Connection

by Ladelle



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Bromance, Demons, M/M, Minor Violence, Supernatural - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-01
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2017-11-02 20:28:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 105,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/373033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladelle/pseuds/Ladelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With one touch, Detective Timothy Drake can see the past—of people, of objects—anything. When a case leads him to the sewers of Gotham, he wakes an evil he never knew existed; one that wants vengeance on the family that sealed him away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

Gotham was a shade darker than the graying sky. The heels of its buildings were tar-stained and marred by dirt. A heavy fog seeped into alleyways and whispered against windows, like something alive. Night was falling, and Gotham waited to catch it.

Huddled under a tattered tarpaulin that decorated the entryway to a butcher shop, Tim Drake watched the abandoned street warily, scraping his gloved hands together for warmth. It was pouring, and he was exhausted.

“You need somethin’?”

The butcher stepped outside, and Tim debated on how to acknowledge him. Heavyset, the man shuffled forward with a suspicious look in his eyes. He pressed a cigarette to his lips, lit it, and waited for an answer.

“Just a bit of shelter, for now,” Tim stated. As if on cue, lightning cracked the horizon, and a boom of thunder shook the city’s foundation. Gotham was a skeleton, and tonight, rain formed its flesh. It was a fascinating place, and also terrifying. It was a place where people disappeared, according to his case notes, without a trace.

After breathing a gauzy plume of smoke in Tim’s direction, the butcher shook his head morosely. “Gotham ain’t no place for shelter, kid.”

Tim agreed. It hadn’t been his first choice, but a friend had called in a favor, and so here he was, searching for a murder weapon that had probably been washed halfway to Bludhaven.

Tim shook his head, not wanting to think about it. He hated sewer scavenging.

“Do you think this storm will last a while?” Tim asked, knowing he’d have to wait out the rain. He was also under time constraints—the court date had been moved up, and he had precisely three days to find the handgun and get it back to claims.

“Nah.” The butcher snorted and took a quick drag. “It’s too wicked. Like God’s throwin’ a tantrum. It’ll be over soon enough.”

At least that was good news, Tim found himself thinking. His hotel was closer to the airport than the inner city, and he wondered if he could make it another couple of days without sleep. With the deadline on his mind, he figured he’d have to.

“Is there a café near here? With wireless?” He hugged a laptop bag close, and looked in the direction that the butcher pointed. The street lights were finally flickering to life, a little late, in Tim’s opinion. The sky had been pitch black for at least fifteen minutes.

“Just up the street?” Tim sought to clarify, and the butcher puffed another cloud of smoke at him, one that enveloped him whole. “On the corner. Can’t miss it. Open late, too, though I’d be gettin’ home soon, if I were you. Darkness likes these streets too much, if you know what I mean.”

Tim frowned and started off into gale, turning the collar of his coat against the soggy draft. A feeling tickled his senses, but he didn’t stop for it. Like a whisper, it was soft against his ears. Tim could feel his shoes soaking through and he sighed, trudging faster towards a gleaming light in the distance.

The engine of a car groaned. Tin awnings tick-ticked as they were pelted by staccato drops of water, and the eerie hum of neon signs made the fine hairs on Tim’s neck crawl to attention. The dull mumble of rock music was half drowned-out from a bar across the way, and he could see the street light change from red to green in a puddle at his feet.

Tim stopped—dead in his tracks—when the feeling swept through him, amplified, like a fevered chill. It was accompanied by a murmur that clung to the damp air. With his eyes closed, Tim clutched the straps of his bag, and began talking quietly to himself.

“Ignore it, ignore it…”

But he couldn’t. It was too loud now; too noticeable.

Exhaling slowly, Tim saw his breath form a hazy cloud. He turned in a circle, searching for something—anything—that could be responsible. He was used to having feelings that normal people didn’t; sensing things that others couldn’t. But it was rare that he heard them.

Only bad things called to him.

Tim began moving again, quickly, towards the café. It was merely a block away, glowing yellow in the dark. He jogged forward, sucking in damp air, and followed the feeling even though he had broken into a cold sweat because of it. It was drawing him in, and the more he listened to the panicked whispering, the more he felt pulled by it—the more he felt that he needed to find it, whatever it was.

His gloved hand closed over the handle to the café, and when he pulled open the door, the world seemed to trickle in slow motion. There were people laughing in crowds, moving around, and baristas shuffling about.

Tim didn’t hear any of this. There was only one sound to him; one voice. It was low and gritty, like metal dragged against pavement. It was clearer now that he was closer, and he swallowed, weaving through the crowds, his temples pounding.

It was close, so close…

Tim could almost see it now, a few feet ahead. In a jacket pocket, it was screaming and swearing and whispering all at once, and urging Tim to just reach for it, touch it just once, and so Tim’s fingers settled over the fabric of the jacket, just over the pocket, and—

“Excuse me.” A hand covered his own.

A sudden cold washed over Tim, as if he’d been freed from a trance. He sucked in a breath and glanced up quickly, an apology readied on his tongue. But instead of speaking, he froze in place.

“Dick?”

The man that stared down at him looked baffled, and then recognition dawned on him. “Tim?” Unkempt hair fell in layers over his cheeks, and suddenly, his expression lightened. “Timmy? Holy—what are you doing in Gotham?”

Tim nodded absently, caught by surprise. The room fell in and out of focus as the cold feeling lingered in his gut, and the murmuring dulled, but didn’t quite fade.

“Are you all right?” Dick’s voice was every bit the way Tim remembered it, with worry tinged in all of the right places. Straightening up, Tim cleared his throat and nodded. When he noticed that his hand was still pressed to Dick’s pocket, he yanked it back, and shook it out, midair.

“I’m sorry. I was just…” he let the explanation go, ignored Dick’s raised eyebrow, and changed the subject. “Wow. Richard Grayson. Of all the places you could have disappeared to…Gotham?”

Dick was a head-and-a-half taller, looking down at Tim with a wry grin splashed across his face. “Well, the trick to disappearing is ending up in a place no one will look for you, right? And don’t call me that. I’ll always be Dick to you, and you’ll always be my Little Timmy.”

“Ugh,” Tim tucked his bangs behind his ears and groaned. “Please don’t call me that.”

In the corner of Tim’s eye, a shadow moved. He shifted, surprised to see a boy stalk up to Dick, almost protectively. He was a teenager, at least, but his features were delicate, young, and harsh. His eyes were framed by thick black lashes, and looked too aware; too calculating.

Tim found himself captured by the gaze, even when his gut tingled with the feeing that he had somehow encroached on this kid’s territory, whatever it was. There was something else, too. Something about the boy that wasn’t quite right—if he was a drawing, his lines would be in constant motion, even when still. It was eerie and strange, and when Tim’s head tipped to the side, trying to figure it out, Dick was suddenly stepping into his view, disturbing his focus and effectively blocking his view.

“I hope you’re not here on vacation,” Dick was smiling, but he was also watching, and Tim hated that look because it meant that he didn’t look as cool and collected as he liked.

Tim considered the question and then grimaced. “God, no,” he frowned. Gotham wasn’t known for its luxury. “I’m here on a case. Not surprising, I assume.”

Everyone knew that Gotham was crime-ridden.

“Who is he, Grayson?” The teenager’s head poked out from behind Dick, and still managed to look threatening. Dick’s hand went to the boy’s head and ruffled his hair, all while his eyes fell into something akin to apprehension. He was searching for words, and Tim could see him floundering.

“We were partners, once upon a time,” Tim offered, a fragment of his life he’d struggled to bury, resurfacing. He’d been a mess back then, and Dick had been the first person he’d really shown, and, well…it had felt good to not be called a freak, or be told that he was cursed.

This murmur made a quick crescendo to whispering, and Tim frowned.

“Dick…what’s in your pocket?” The words came before Tim had a chance to reel them back, and he was sure that the looks of surprise that crossed Dick’s face, and the boy at his side, must have matched his own.

“Nevermind. I shouldn’t have asked. It’s just got this really bad feel to it and—I’m sorry, nevermind.”

Dick looked concerned for a moment, and then he smiled. “Oh, Timmy. I almost forgot how good you were.”

“Not that good,” Tim replied, and he ignored the confused expression on the teenager’s face. “But it’s got a temper on it, and it’s a real talker.”

This time, Dick’s expression fell. “You can hear it?”

The coffee shop was an orchestra in itself. The spilling drizzle of water and froth, the clinking of glasses and popping of plastic lids. The scraping of chairs, rain splashing against the windows, speakers muffling a familiar Dean Martin song, and the quiet  
conversation and occasional bursts of laughter from the fifteen-or-so people jammed inside.

The whispers clawed their way through. Not as a piece of the commotion, but an entity; like a curse whispered against an enemy’s ear, thick and penetrating, and at the root of all things, evil.

Tim was going to deny it, simply because he had the sudden urge to leave and pretend he hadn’t heard anything at all. But the way that Dick was looking at him…

Slowly, Tim nodded. “You can’t?”

The boy at Dick’s side was watching him with calm fury, the kind that brewed behind quiet eyes until it couldn’t hold any longer, and exploded.

“No one can,” the teenager nearly spit at him, and Tim’s took a step backwards, feeling a bit like he’d been shoved by the words. Dick’s hand settled over the teenager’s shoulder and he squeezed it, lightly.

“Hey,” he said. “Want to get me another coffee?”

The boy stared at Dick as though he was a moron, but before he could argue, Dick smiled calmly. “Please?”

Skeptical eyes danced between Tim and Dick, and with an irritated snort the boy disappeared into the crowds, headed for the sales registers.

The small moment of silence left by his departure was quickly filled.

“Damian’s a good kid,” Dick nodded, as if his behavior needed validating. Then his demeanor changed. “Tim, what are you doing here?”

“I’m on a case,” Tim repeated, and when Dick raised an eyebrow at him, he added, “Really. I was just up the street and I started hearing things. I don’t hear things, so I followed it. I didn’t expect to find you here, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

There was an edge to his tone, and he didn’t apologize for it. When Dick had decided to leave, all of those years ago, he’d made it a point to cover his tracks. He’d left Tim alone, and he knew it. The remorse showed on his face.

“Do you know what it is?” Dick asked, curiously, his hand settling over his pocket.

Tim shook his head. “Of course not. You know how it works.” He held up his hands to prove he had gloves on and let a spell of vague irritation sweep out of his system. “I can only hear it, and like I said, that’s not normal for me. And please don’t ask me to touch it. I don’t want to see anything it’s got to show me.”

There were times when Tim loved his gift, and others when he hated it. As a child, seeing every memory of anything from a simple touch had been fascinating. Now, as an adult, he had come to the realization that most of the time, he was better off not knowing.

“What is it saying?” Dick asked. His eyes were narrowed and his lips were pursed, like he had second-thought the question as soon as he’d asked it.

“Gibberish.” Tim shook his head, and then shrugged. “It just keeps repeating the same thing. Sometimes fast, sometimes slow. It just doesn’t feel right.” 

“What is it repeating?” Dick pushed, and the detective in Tim could see that the excitement behind the question was overshadowed by fear. It gave him the distinct feeling that there was a side to Dick he didn’t know.

Of course, he’d always known that.

Looking Dick in the eye, Tim heaved a heavy sigh, feeling foolish as he repeated what he was hearing. “Rasalgool, Rasalgool, Rasalgool…Like I said, just gibberish.”

Coffee exploded onto the tiled flooring beside them, and Tim jumped when the liquid leapt up to meet his clothes. His eyes darted to where Damian was standing, empty handed, his eyes wide. A puddle of coffee was forming at his feet, and he didn’t seem to care.

“What did you say?” It was more of a demand than a question.

The sheer force of the comment seemed to suck the life from the room, and the noises of the cafe seemed to drown under its underlying panic. There was anger there, too, enough that Tim glanced over to Dick, who held his hand up.

“Don’t say it again, Timmy.”

Tim blinked, confused, and suddenly strangely cold. He’d never really warmed up since coming inside, and there was something mysterious and evasive about Dick’s behavior that left him feeling like lead.

“Okay…” he replied, uneasily. Damian was storming towards him, tracking footprints made of cream and expresso across the café’s tiled floor. Stalking into Tim’s personal space, he was practically fuming.

“Who are you?” he demanded, and Tim half expected Dick to intercede. When he looked up, he saw that Dick’s head was buried in the palm of his hand, and he looked about as exhausted as Tim felt.

Damian jabbed a finger against Tim’s stomach, and almost growled. “Well?!”

All of the years of training as a detective rushed into the forefront of his mind, his senses on high alert. He could fight back, if he needed too. After all, Damian was just a kid. Except, there was something about him that kept Tim on edge…he felt uncomfortable with Damian so close, and he could see what he had noticed before—the way he didn’t quite fit with his surroundings—

“Dami, stop it.”

As Damian’s hand drifted higher, and his fingers came dangerously close to touching Tim’s face, Dick snatched him back by the wrist. “Don’t touch him.”

And suddenly the world around them came into focus, and Tim was anxiously aware that the entire place had quieted, and that everyone was standing still and nervous, watching them.

There was an unnatural hatred hidden in Damian’s blaring gaze, though it faded when Dick’s tone went low and serious, and asked for him to calm down. His answer to this was to yank his phone from his pocket, shoot a disapproving glance towards Dick, and state, “I’m calling Todd.”

Tim couldn’t have asked for a better invitation to make an exit. With a strained smile that could have meant a thousand different things, he held out his hand towards Dick. “It was, um, really great seeing you. I hope that…well, everything’s working out—” Tim glanced at his pocket, “—or works out. I’ll just be on my way.”

The expression he earned in return was one that made his stomach sink. Dick didn’t move to shake his hand, and instead looked like he was carrying leagues of apologies on his back, but could quite bring himself to say he was sorry.

Tim looked down at his own hand, hovering alone, and brought it back to his side. He squeezed his laptop bag for comfort, and without missing a beat, headed for the café door. 

He missed the corrosive look that Dick gave Damian. He did, however, feel eyes on his back as he left, and the door to the cafe chimed to announce his exit.

The cold was numbing, and he walked like he had direction, even though he had nowhere to be. He stalked through greasy puddles and held his hand out, collecting a small pool of water as he caught the rain.

“At least it isn’t pouring anymore…” he mumbled to himself. 

The doorbell chimed again, in the distance, and Tim heard footsteps racing towards him. He turned on his heels, suspecting Dick.

Ever the master detective, he was correct.

“Timmy, wait.”

Tim frowned. “Stop calling me that.” He turned to start walking again, but Dick’s hand settled on his shoulder, and he paused.

“I’m sorry. I know that none of this makes sense, and to be honest, it won’t because I can’t tell you about it.” There was a desperation in Dick’s voice that Tim couldn’t remember ever hearing, and it wore down his defenses. He turned around, knowing that he must look completely worn and soaked. “But if you can hear it, I…I might need your help. If you could just use your—“

“Dick, does all of this have something to do with the reason you left?” Tim hadn’t thought about it in a while, but now, the memories were rushing back. Something about an attack, and then Dick had been forced to turn in his badge, and in less than a week he’d disappeared completely, without so much as a goodbye.

“Yeah,” the reply was distant. “I’m sorry about all of that, too.”

Tim had always known that there had been more to the story, but he’d never dug around. Dick had been the closest thing to family he’d had, and he owed at least that much to him.

“But I can’t tell you about anything. You can’t ask questions—“

“I get it,” Tim waved him off, tiredly. “It’s fine, I get it.” He paused and then his shoulders sank as he simply surrendered. “What do you need me to look at?”

A scuffling sounded from behind them and Damian was slowly drifting towards them, looking irritated as he came brandishing one new Styrofoam cup of coffee, presumably to replace the one he’d lost.

“Todd won’t pick up,” Damian rooted himself beside Dick, as though it was his place, and his alone. “Bastard.”

“I guess we’ll just have to ask in person,” Dick countered, and denied the coffee when Damian offered it to him. “We’ll save it for Jay. As an offering.”

Dick started walking, and Tim followed his pace, burying his hands deep within his pockets. Damian was glaring at him sidelong, before he finally said, “You know Todd’s not going to like him.” 

Dick shushed the teenager, and Tim repressed a shiver.

Whoever this Todd was, he wouldn’t be the first.


	2. Chapter 2

The church was a pillar of gray stone pressed between two buildings of equal pallor. It was insidious, hidden there, with crumbling cobbled steps that led to monstrous iron doors. While Dick and Damian headed up, Tim found himself stopping, weighed down by the fact he could feel how old the place was, and the thought made him nervous.

He avoided aged buildings—they carried too much on their shoulders, and kept too many secrets.

“You just going to wait in the rain?” Damian mocked while Dick tugged open the door. It groaned like hadn’t been moved in years, and the sound resonated deep into the hollow interior of the church, echoing.

Tim slowly stepped up after the other two, careful. When he entered he was met by a chilly draft that made the fact he was soaked-through more obvious. They were in the church’s sanctuary, and the main aisle was lit by candles that had melted to gooey messes in their holders.

Something creaked in the darkness that surrounded them, and Tim noticed himself watching the shadows for movement. Lightening flashed outside, and stained glass images were brought to life. Reds and greens and glacier blues flooded the room for the briefest of moments, before being swallowed by blackness.

Why are we in a church? The question had climbed to the tip of Tim’s tongue at least five times, and he’d swallowed it back. He’d promised no questions, and for reason unknown to him, he trusted Dick enough to do him this small favor.

After exiting through a side door, Tim felt warmer, and was surprised to see a well-lit hallway that looked like it belonged to a house. It was decorated with random pictures that didn’t seem to correlate in any way, but that didn’t affect the way that the room just felt better.

“This is the kitchen,” Dick announced, and they all made a left into a big space that looked very much lived in. The cabinets were worn and there were dishes in the sink, and in the middle of the space was a gigantic wooden table that looked charred and scratched. Everything was old—nothing was modern, like in Tim’s apartment.

“It’s…nice,” Tim sounded out, unsure of how he was supposed to respond.

Damian snorted and slapped the cup of coffee onto the table. “I’ll get him,” he declared, before leaving Tim and Dick alone.

There was a clock hanging on the wall, and it was loudly ticking away the night.

“So, you’re working cases alone? That seems a bit out of protocol,” Dick dug around in his pocket and pulled out something wadded in cloth, and Tim felt the hair on his arms lift, curious to see what it was. He didn’t let his interest show.

“I’m a consultant for the agency,” Tim explained, peering over the table at some scuffed up marks that looked strangely like a language he’d never seen. “When they need me, they call me in.”

Dick was carefully unwrapping whatever he’d had hidden, and Tim watched, casually.

“I didn’t even know that position existed,” Dick murmured thoughtfully.

“It didn’t,” Tim noticed a collection of books by the stove, and in order to look occupied, ventured over to take a look at what they were. “I’m the first.”

Dick’s smile was bright against Tim’s back. “Wow. I told you you’d be something great.”

Tim didn’t answer. He’d expected to find cookbooks, but now, with his head tilted to read the bindings, he was slightly put off. The Grimoire Bestiae, Luciferian Tarot Reversed, Ruinosus Angelus…

Something clinked against the table, and Tim drew back, watching as Dick settled a fragment of stone onto the cloth. It was marble white, but old, and scuffed. There were markings in it that seemed to be burned into its surface.

“It’s more or less in the process of being restored,” Dick offered in way of explanation. “And you can hopefully help to decide if it’s evil.”

Tim frowned. Objects weren’t ever evil, in his experience. They just carried bad memories. They could never hurt anyone—they were inanimate.

“Are you superstitious?” Tim asked, slightly cynical.

Dick smiled at him. “No, just careful.”

“Oh goody,” a voice sifted through the room, followed by a man that made Tim instinctively take a step back. He was young—older than Tim, but young. His eyes were blue and his cheekbones were high, and altogether he had the body and face of a Grecian statue come to life. Only his hair was dark and unruly, and a thin curl in the front was a strange shade of white—

“Alopecia areata?” he murmured out loud, and the man’s already unfriendly demeanor seemed to sink unfathomably lower.

He cast a decimating glance at Dick, who looked confused. He then decided to direct his anger at the one responsible, which appeared to be Tim.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, too,” he tipped back, and leaned an elbow against the countertop behind him. “I’m sure you have plenty of tricks up your sleeve. Are you going to pull a bunny out of a hat? Or maybe contact my great aunt Mildred? Or maybe you’ll do something extra spectacular for us and pretend like you’re hearing a piece of stone talking to you? I’m incredibly excited, if you can’t tell.”

Tim stared at the stranger. Was he being made fun of?

“Jason, Tim is—“

“Tim? Short for Timothy? ‘Honored by God’ and all of that? Jesus, how pretentious are you people going to get?”

From behind him, Damian had a handful of chips, and he was nibbling on them with a smirk plastered to his face.

“I didn’t invite myself here,” Tim finally said, and then, without missing a beat, he added, “But I can certainly show myself out.”

As he took a step towards the door a sound filled the room; stone scraping against wood. When he turned, he noticed that the stone had slid from the fabric onto the table, and had moved a good few inches towards him. He raised an eyebrow before glancing up to catch Jason’s surprised expression, and noticed that Dick and Damian were both staring at him with varying degrees of astonishment.

When Tim’s cell phone went off, everyone inside the kitchen jumped.

An eerie feeling had settled over Tim, and he shook his head in an attempt to dispel it. His phone was still ringing.

“Excuse me,” he directed to Jason, sourly, and he shoved past him in order to find some privacy in the hallway before he picked up the line.

“Drake here,” Tim answered, scuffing his feet along the floorboards in agitation. After a moment, he frowned. “Of course not. It’s been pouring—“

Tim turned to pace back towards the kitchen, and caught Damian watching him with keen eyes, slowly chewing a potato chip. He could see Dick and Jason speaking in the background, and they both looked livid.

Tim stopped in his tracks. “What do you mean the claims date got upped?”

Damian’s eyes narrowed at him, and Tim turned the other way, feeling irritated on different levels. “Con, I’m not going to have it to you by then. I have to wait until the rain’s stopped, and even then, if the water levels are high—“

Tim closed his eyes and nodded, even though he looked even more miserable than he had before. “Yeah, I know. I’ll check in sometime tomorrow night. Don’t call me before then, got it?”

Tim turned back towards the kitchen when he heard it again, the undertone of sound so soft that it could have been nothing; but he knew it was the voice from before. Still on the phone, he dug through the inside pockets of his jacket and tugged out a pad of paper and a pen, and said, “Uh-huh,” against the receiver as he drifted back into the kitchen, pushing past Damian and narrowly avoiding brushing Jason’s shoulder.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Tim said as he leaned over the table and started jotting down what little of the whispering he could make out. “Believe me, I’ll get the gun. But you need to tell Cassie to talk to that judge. Didn’t they do a case together once?”

As Tim scribbled, Dick and Jason’s argument grew louder. Tim only caught pieces of it.

“—the real thing, and—“

“—in your right mind would bring someone like him into this place, knowing full well what’s going on—“

Damian was steadily coming closer, until he was peering over the table at Tim’s quick handwriting. He studied Tim with narrowed eyes as the pen just kept going, regardless of the fact that he was on the phone as well.

“Oh. Well Cassie shouldn’t have been speeding in a school zone, really. Look, I’ve got to go. Just try to stall a bit, or something. I’m only one person and—yes, I know you appreciate me. I’m hanging up now. Goodbye.”

Tim shoved his phone away and tore out the page he had written, dropping it onto the table before pocketing his notebook and pen. He shifted his laptop bag to the opposite shoulder and ignored the fact that Damian had snatched the paper away, and was wandering away from him, reading it.

Dick and Jason’s argument had come to a climax, and it ended with Jason pointing at Tim and shouting, “Get. Him. Out!”

Tim shook his head with distaste and was at least somewhat pleased to see Dick irate on his behalf. Taking a deep breath, he aimed a severe enough look at Jason that he actually seemed affected for the briefest of seconds.

The tablet on the table jumped again, and Jason’s aggravation returned, and this time, more calmly, he motioned towards the door. “Out.”

Dick followed Tim, forceful and obviously embarrassed, and strangely sad. “Tim, Jason can—“

“Dick,” Tim sighed, and when he reached the entryway, turned around. “It’s fine. And really, it’s probably better anyway. I’ve got evidence to find, and you’ve got amazing roommates to bond with.”

Dick frowned, and then dug a scrap of paper from his jeans. He brandished a pen from the same pocket, and scribbled something down. When he held it out, Tim took it warily.

“If you need me, call me.”

Tim shoved the note into his pocket with other wrappers and bits of trash he’d collected; things he knew he’d never use.

***

“A lot of it is names, and the rest doesn’t make sense,” Damian said, handing the paper to Jason. He nearly ripped it when he snatched it away, and his eyes darted over the words in quick succession.

“It’s not Hell Speak?” he humored.

Damian shrugged. “None of the languages I know. Think he made it up?”

“Tim is not a liar,” Dick said as he stalked back into the room, and he finally found the time to get rid of his jacket. He stole an aggravated glance at Jason. “And what you did was completely uncalled for.”

Jason leaned back against the counter, unrelenting, an uncaring look plastered on his face. He held out the note to Dick, who took it and read it slowly.

“Your little psychic friend wrote it,” Jason’s cynicism was blatant, and Dick snorted.

“Yes, I know his handwriting, but thank you.”

Damian crept closer to him and peered over his arm, pressing close to Dick’s side. “Just names, right?”

Dick was quiet a minute, and then he said, “And muttering. ‘Elfooshio’—could be elfugio.”

“Escape?” Damian inquired. He shrugged. “I suppose it would make sense. We are preparing the seal tomorrow evening. Maybe they’re thinking they’ll be smart enough to get free?”

“Or that we’ll be dumb enough to make mistakes. Like bringing a stranger into our place of hiding,” Jason shot Dick an accusatory glare. “Where did you even find him?”

Jason moved towards the fridge, and then he looked half-enlightened, like an idea had dawned on him. “Wait, wait. Let me guess. He found you.”

Damian stepped away from Dick, and rolled his eyes. “Who cares? It’s not like we’ll see him again.”

Dick tossed the piece of paper onto the table and started for the doorway, and Jason watched him leave while he chugged down milk from the carton.

“Where are you going?” Damian asked, but Dick didn’t answer.

Jason lowered the carton and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. He gave Damian a dirty look when he was caught staring, as if waiting for an explanation.

“It looks like Dicky-boy has a friend he never told us about,” he said simply. Tossing one last glance at the crumbling stone on the table, he ordered Damian to bed.

***

Ex-Detective Richard Grayson collapsed onto his bed and glanced over to his door, just make sure it was locked. He rubbed his eyes and scratched his head, torn between thanking God that Tim was alive and beating his head against a wall out of regret.

His life had two parts, and he damned the time he’d been forced to choose between them. Damian always came first.

But Tim.

Tim was the boy he’d taken upon himself to rescue. He loved him like any older brother did a younger, and he’d sworn years ago to protect him.

And then, after making promises he couldn’t keep, he’d vanished. He’d left when Tim really needed him, and he knew it.

Even if Jason refused to see it, Tim was the real thing.

Dick closed his eyes and dozed, and in time, salvaged memories he’d locked away.

-Flashback-

The front door opened, and Tim was caught red handed. The desk drawers that Dick kept locked—Tim had forced them open, and was hands deep in bags of evidence that weren’t even supposed to have left the crime lab.

“Tim, what are you—“

“She thought she was safe,” Tim was twelve years old, with a young face and dull, almost lifeless eyes. He had ripped open several manila folders to get to the one he’d been searching for, and when he’d found it, he’d torn open the plastic baggie inside.

Dick watched him thumb a clump of blonde hair, his eyes distant, his face so pale that his lips looked nearly purple. When Dick tried to move towards the desk, Tim’s attention snapped over to him. The action caused Dick to pause. His chest tightened.

“She thought she was safe,” he repeated, sounding close to tears. Tim wasn’t going to cry, though. He never cried. It was something Dick had discovered about him—a fact he attributed to Tim’s no-good parents. For the thousandth time over the past year, he felt a heavy guilt settle inside of him when he felt thankful that they were dead.

Tim went on. “Everyone uses that path. Everyone runs at night. People even bike. That little old lady has her dog there—“

“Timmy, what are you talking about?” Dick came forward and had Tim’s shoulders now, and he was shaking him, trying to get the glazed look in his eyes to go away. It seemed to flicker on and off.

Tim smiled. “Take me for a car ride?”

Dick felt cold. He’d never seen Tim like this before, even when he’d first found him. He’d known that something wasn’t right with the kid, but he wasn’t slow—in fact, he was a genius for his age. He knew things that Dick was never even sure he’d heard of. But he wasn’t good with other kids, and he hated being close to anyone—he hated being touched, and when Dick thought about what that could have meant about his parents, it made his stomach roil.

“Sure. Yeah. Where do you want to go?”

“Bayside Park…” Tim squinted, almost as if he were trying to read something off Dick’s wall. Dick even turned around to look. There was nothing there.

Dick nodded slowly as Tim got up and headed to the door. He eyed the hair, still tangled between Tim’s fingers. “Timmy. Can we uh, leave that? I need it…”

“No.” Tim snapped at him.

Dick wasn’t sure why he went along with it. Even as he opened his car door and got Tim inside, he asked himself what he was doing. Maybe it was because he’d seen worse things, or maybe it was because he was genuinely curious beneath everything else…but Tim was silent the entire car ride, staring out of the window like he’d never seen the world before, or like he’d never see it again.

It was when they arrived at the park that Dick slowly started to understand. Tim took off running, and Dick had chased him, terrified that he was bolting. He was already skittish. He had no place to go.

“Tim!”

And Tim stopped. Jerked to a stop, really. He stared at the pavement beneath him, and clutched the hair tighter in his hand. He stared up at Dick, looking lost in thought.

“It was here,” he said, quietly. “He came from here…” He walked to the edge of the runner’s trail, to a section of hedge that hadn’t been trimmed, and parted to form a fake path to a winding creek. Tim’s eyes closed and swayed to the side, as if he was being tugged by an invisible force.

It was like he was remembering something, or re-enacting a memory that wasn’t his.

“He asked her for help. He was an old man. He looked nice…He…he dropped something and couldn’t get it. He said he had a bad leg. She…” Tim disappeared through the hedges and Dick darted after him.

A realization was dawning on Dick, and his heart was pounding. How could he not have seen it?

“He pushed her, here.” Tim touched a giant oak tree. “Her arm—the bark; it really hurt.” Tim absently rubbed his own arm, as if he could feel it, and Dick came up behind him, vaguely remembering the case.

Some hair had been found, and a couple of teeth, and a set of clothes. They were the last thing a missing college girl from up-state had been wearing, but the case had come to a standstill when they couldn’t find her body. It hadn’t helped that there were some accusations of drug use, and that she had often run away from home as a teenager. They’d also never found a murder weapon, and they had few steps to retrace since she was new in town and didn’t seem to have made any friends.

Dick watched Tim closely.

“She fell,” Tim said, and he crashed to his knees, his hands spreading in the dirt as if he were following someone else’s movements.

“Tim, stop,” Dick murmured, quietly. He understood it, somehow, just a little. That Tim could see this in his mind. That he was experiencing it. And as Dick stepped forward, numbly, never having seen anything quite like it despite his history, he found himself fascinated and terrified at the same time.

Tim paused and folded himself together, hugging his knees as he rocked back and forth.

“He did things!” he shouted, and Dick was behind him in an instant, hugging him tightly.

“Tim, Timmy, it’s okay. Stop. You don’t have to—“

But Tim wrestled away from his grip and crawled forward, clawing towards the edge of the creek. It had risen this year, due to an early snowstorm that had melted quickly, and caused all of the nearby rivers and streams to fill. It was murky and quiet, and the hairs on Dick’s arm rose with uneasiness.

Afraid that Tim didn’t see the water, pitch black and still, Dick clambered after him. He scraped through the mud and leaves only to stop, his breath catching like something thick in his lungs when he saw what Tim was reaching for in the darkness, half balanced on what was left of the shoreline, with his other leg sunk into the icy water.

“And he choked her,” Tim finished sadly. He was straining to reach something half submerged by the river, but Dick could hardly see anything. He could tell what it was as soon as Tim’s fingers touched it.

An arm.

Dick’s heart was slow to catch up with his breathing and he studied the mass of tree roots and hedges, and murky water that had collected plastic bottles and other bits of trash. The girl’s body was twisted awkwardly within them, and Dick swallowed. The bits of her that could be seen looked like broken branches of an aspen tree; she simply blended in.

Tim rifled her hand from the mess, and held it tightly. His eyes had always been such a vibrant shade of blue, and even now, barely lit by the park lamps that were up the hill and at least ten feet away, they were unnaturally bright. “It’s okay. You’re safe now. Go to sleep.”

There was no fear in Tim’s eyes, but no relief either. There was just awareness. The fact he was twelve and numb to this scene put lead in Dick’s chest. For the first time in a while he felt fear, and sadness. He swallowed deep and scooped Tim against him.

Tim fought against the embrace, briefly, and it was a long time before Dick let go.


	3. Chapter 3

Tim bolted awake. His bedding clung to him, stuck to a cold sweat he’d earned from a nightmare. He blinked once. Twice. Then remembered where he was, and why he was in Gotham in the first place.

His phone was blinking from the bedside table; he’d received a text. Slightly surprised he hadn’t heard it go off, he leaned across his bed and grabbed it, hoping he hadn’t missed anything important.

It was just a message from Conner, wishing him luck.

Groaning, he peeled himself from the sheets, vaguely remembering his taxi ride back the night before. After leaving the church, he had planned on sticking around downtown until morning, but that hadn’t gone as planned. He’d been tired—exhausted, really—and he’d barely gotten the majority of his clothes off before he’d collapsed into bed.

Tim thumbed his phone as he wadded into his bathroom sluggishly. It told him that it was nearly noon, and that Gotham was all gray skies today, with a forty percent chance of rain. He didn’t like those odds, or the fact he’d missed nearly half of the day. He hardly ever slept, and when he did, all he could manage were catnaps.

“Stress?” he asked his complexion before splashing water onto his face. He didn’t bother showering. He threw on an old pair of jeans and layered a couple of plain shirts beneath a fleece sweater, knowing the sewers would be cold.

“And if I’m lucky, I won’t be chest deep in water,” Tim mused to himself. He collected the few things he planned on bringing, most important of which was in a tangled plastic bag inside his jacket pocket. It held a bullet inside, one that belonged to the gun he was supposed to find. He wasn’t sure how useful it would be, but it was all he had to go off of.

Catching a cab was easy, as was deciding where to be dropped off. Tim rolled the bullet between the fingers of his right hand while his left held tightly to his gloves. He closed his eyes and saw the bullet in his mind, and with a talent he’d somewhat harnessed over the years, rewound time.

The bullet was in his pocket, but before had been in his jacket. He’d struggled to get it through security at the airport, and had been forced to show his legal papers authorizing its transportation—in the meantime, three officers had removed it from the bag and touched it, unintentionally wearing away the miniscule remains of gunpowder that had been left. Before then, it had sat on the shelf of his apartment. Conner had given it to him, and before then it had come from the crime lab. Tim sped through those particular imprints until he traced his way back to the actual murder.

Tim could see when the bullet had taken flight. There was a fraction of a second when color filled his mind’s eye, and he found it, and studied it. There was a sign in the background, blurred, but he’d recognized it while wandering around the night before.

The butcher shop.

“Here,” the cab driver sounded irritated, and when Tim opened his eyes, he wondered how long it had been since the car had stilled. He dropped the bullet back into its bag and hid it deep in his pocket. After putting on his gloves he paid the driver, and stepped out of the cab, carefully hiding a crowbar he’d snuck along.

Stepping back as the cab took off, he studied the city now that it was day and its shapes made sense.

Across the street was the butcher shop, and Tim closed his eyes again, remembering the image left from the bullet. He opened them and moved a bit, until the angle in his mind matched where he was standing.

“So this is where he was killed,” Tim sucked on his lower lip, and took in his surroundings. He didn’t know much about the case, since it wasn’t really his own, but he knew enough to narrow down where the gun could have disappeared to. “And the weapon wasn’t recovered, so they’re thinking the shooter got rid of it. You’d have to do it quickly though.” Tim noted all of the stores and shops around and presumed that on a nice night, there’d probably be at least a few people out.

“I’m still thinking it’s the sewer.” Tim saw the gutter a few feet away from him, and tried to think of where else it could have been abandoned. There were a few alleys nearby, but he’d checked them out the night before. No guns.

Which meant he had one option left. “It has to be the sewer.”

Tim stared at the gutter with a dismal expression on his face before looking out onto the street, searching for a manhole. There was one not too far and he jogged towards it, pleased that only one or two cars had passed in the time he’d been surveying the scene.

He knew how suspicious he looked, wandering around downtown with a crowbar hanging from his hand.

A bit of leverage got the lid of the manhole moving. It made a grinding noise, and Tim winced when a musty smell escaped, making his nostrils burn. He pulled a flashlight from his back pocket and slipped down a rusted latter, frowning when he realized that he’d been right, and the water levels were still high. He was thigh deep in freezing water by the time his feet hit the floor.

The air was stale and putrid. Bile rose in Tim’s throat and he was forced to swallow it down. The water was thick and muddy and he could taste the nastiness of the place on his tongue.

Tugging off a glove, Tim flipped on his flashlight. He was reluctant to touch anything. He knelt down and pressed his fingers to the floor, pushing past the gooey remains of something decomposing in order to get a feel of the concrete underneath.

A disgusted shiver ran the length of his body. He shook his head and focused. Tried to see what the ground had seen, or feel what it had felt. He was looking for something hard, something metal. Something that had clunked or scraped against the surface. It was arduous, trying to be in tune with something like concrete flooring. But Tim felt it, just slightly; the feeling of something heavy dragged by the current, much further down.

When he stood up, he felt dizzy. Some things had too much going on, and it was a strain for him to pick through it all to find a mere hint of what he was looking for. He started down the shaft, his feet dragging through debris, and as the light from the manhole he’d come down disappeared behind him, he hoped it wouldn’t start raining again.

***

“It’s a miracle the thing’s held as is,” Jason was saying as he tossed his bag into the main room. “It was already cracking before we threw the old man in.”

Damian was in the process of moving pews with Dick, and he huffed. “We can attribute that to your poorly executed attempts at trying to amend my father’s original seal.”

“Yeah, well, Bruce isn’t really around to fix the mess he made now, is he?” Jason sighed when he caught the look that Dick sent him. “We’ve just got to work with what we’ve got.”

When he reached the far wall, Damian dropped his end of the bench and stared at it, almost sadly. “When will father be back?”

Across from him, Dick glanced over to Jason, who shrugged. Noticing that the mood in the room had fallen, he changed subjects. “Dick, did you make sure all of the gates were secure?”

The older man was already starting towards another pew, Damian mirroring him towards the other end. Dick nodded. “All five. Jay, the rain was really bad last night. Half the cellar flooded, and the gates are three quarters under water.”

“As long as they’re locked and the seals are still there, we don’t have a problem,” Jason was pulling chalk from his bag, and thick off-white candles. “Wait, were we keeping the rosaries in the cellar?”

“I moved them upstairs,” Damian answered mutely. “Since I knew you’d forget.”

“How thoughtful,” Jason jogged down the small stairway that led to the altar and peered up to the ceiling, trying to find the floor’s exact center. It was directly below a giant bell tower that hadn’t worked in nearly a century, and he could almost hear Bruce’s voice behind him saying, “This is always your point of reference.”

Jason squatted down and drew the first circle onto the wood panels with a fat piece of chalk. He looked up at the ceiling again, just to make sure he had it right, and when Damian chortled at a comment of Dick’s, he looked up and watched them.

They were in sync with everything they moved, calm and focused. He knew that Damian could feel it though, probably even more than he did. The seal beneath them was slowly breaking away. Of the five that kept the pit beneath the manor contained, this one was the weakest, and something _knew_ that.

More like _someone_ , Jason thought, highly suspecting Ra's. Dick had told him what that psychic kid had heard, and how Damian had reacted. Even if he didn’t show it, the brat was scared out of his mind.

Jason didn’t blame him. There was no doubt in his mind that if Ra’s escaped, the first person he’d be after was the kid. They were family, and Damian was more than half the reason Ra’s had ended up in the pit.

“I’ll be damned if we screw this up,” Jason stated, brusquely, ignoring the fact he was already damned to begin with.

***

Tim waded through the water, pushing trash out of his way while his path was lit by the flashlight in his mouth. Every once in a while he’d lean down and run his fingers across the cement, listening for the gurgling thunk he thought might be his gun. It was louder, and he suspected he was getting closer.

A sound echoed throughout the sewer, and Tim paused, water slushing around him. If he listened hard enough, he could almost hear whispers, and the faint sound of scratching. He shined his flashlight against the wall and felt his skin crawl when he saw rats the size of cats clinging to dry ledges. Their eyes glowed green in the darkness, and when Tim’s hand absently sank through a mushy loaf of bread, he almost threw up.

The water was growing warmer.

The fact had caught Tim off guard; at first he had thought that he was getting colder, and he had paused for a moment, slightly worried that he could get hypothermia. But as he stood, he could feel small burst of warmth ebbing past him, almost like a draft.

He’d tried to shine his flashlight down at the water, but it was like tar around him, gooey and black. The walls were the same—coated in at least a century’s worth of muck and grime. He couldn’t see any pipes. He wasn’t sure where the warmth could be coming from.

Taking another step forward, Tim sank another few inches into the sludgy water. He suppressed a shudder as it soaked through his clothes and seemed to suction him in, the rising to his waist. His feet felt numb and his legs were tired, and the air was growing thinner.

He took the flashlight from his mouth and sunk down a bit, barely brushing his fingers against the sewer’s bottom without his head going under. He could feel it better here—the strum that he guessed might be metal.

“Please let it be the gun, please let it be the gun…” he repeated the mantra to himself and edged forward, feeling around with his feet for something hard. The water was so thick that he was nervous he’d miss it.

He made a thorough sweep of his small area before stepping forward, and his flashlight began to flicker. He paused to stare at it, and tapped on the battery casing.

“No way you’re going out on me.” Tim eyed it. “I just put new batteries in yesterday…”

He continued forward, pushing through old plastic bottles and molded packs of cigarettes, scraping his sneakers across the floor. His shoes nearly stuck to the bottom, and the grotesque smell of ash and blackened bananas made his stomach turn.

And then he felt it. Something hard. He caught it beneath his foot and dragged it back a little, testing the weight. It felt right.

Sinking down to pick it up, Tim kept his flashlight held high and scraped his fingers around beneath his foot. They grazed cool metal, and in an instant his mind was flooded with red. Pain erupted through him and sent him stumbling backwards, blinking back cherry-colored spots from his eyes.

Tim dropped the flashlight. He fumbled to catch it, and his eyes slipped closed when he heard it splash, and sink. Without it, Tim was alone and blind in the dark. His heart rate climbed, and Tim fought panic. He listened to the sound of his own breathing and kept his composure, walking himself through what he was going to do.

“First, find the gun again. It’s just tainted, that’s all. You’ve touched a lot worse—“ He felt around with his foot, and was growing increasingly more nervous the further down he had to go. “And then you can use the wall to guide you back. No big deal.”

Tim felt around, pushing garbage out of his way. The water felt more than warm now, it was almost hot. Something about going deeper into the sewer made Tim nervous, and his stomach churned. He shook his head, arms outstretched like a blind man’s, feeling for—

“Metal?” Tim’s fingers sank along thin cords of rusted metal, and he shrank back a little when he heard hinges squeal. “A gate?”

He suddenly felt like he was being watched, and swallowed thickly. The hairs on his neck rose, and Tim felt his hands shake.

As he stepped forward, the flat of his foot fell on the familiar object from before; the one he hoped was the gun he’d been searching for. He glanced down, even though he couldn’t see anything, and poked at it with his toe.

“Okay, you can do it,” Tim told himself. “Just be prepared for the backlash again…” He sank down into the water, reaching for cool metal. He grabbed it from beneath his foot, saw no signs of red like before, and quickly pulled it up above the water.

His fingers examined it; it felt like a gun. He opened his mind a bit more and followed its chain of memory back far enough to see where it had last been fired.

The scene was blurry, but he recognized the one sign. The butcher shop.

“I am so incredibly lucky,” Tim commended himself. He jammed the gun through his belt loop and tugged on it a few times to make sure it was secure. He was turning to leave when the water tugged him back. Something in the water. Something he couldn’t feel…

“Right. I’m leaving now.”

The air changed. It soured. Tim felt like the walls were closing in on him, and his instincts were screaming for him to run now, and get out—the water wrenched him forward. Tim gasped when his chest slammed into the gate and white hot pain shot through his body as he clawed at the bars, trying to pry himself away.

“What the—“ Tim barely sucked in a breath before he was dragged under the water. His scream was muffled and his arms flailed. They tore through trash and bags, and banged against wrought iron. His eyes blinked open and closed, but aside from burning, they saw nothing. The world was black.

Under the water, he twisted. He tasted mud in his mouth, and dirty water burned the inside of his nose. His hands crashed against the metal bars and he used every ounce of energy he had to climb up them, kicking and bobbing to the surface. He half-coughed and half sucked in a breath a stale air—and was jerked back under within seconds.

The pain was blistering, but the panic was worse. Tim was still holding on to the bars, and his fingers found a lock. Whatever had him was slamming him against the gate, trying to pull him through, and for the first time in Tim’s life, he couldn’t see anything.

Tim felt the lock break against his ribs. He choked out a cough and inhaled water. His entire body burned, and behind his eyelids was a flash of brilliant red. The water felt blistering hot.

As quickly as it had come, the force sucking Tim under subsided. He floundered to the water’s surface, coughing up everything he’d swallowed. He rubbed his eyes, even though it did him no good. He inhaled deeply, feeling terrified, and for the first time, not alone.

He listened, but all he heard was the swaying sound of the rusted gate.

Tim’s blood was rushing and his heart was pounding. He was shaking as the water began to rise, just a little. He could feel heat in tendrils around him, and he could hear the whispers echo off the walls.

“Come, come, come…”

Tim tried to move his legs, but he couldn’t. His neck felt sore and when he pressed his fingers to it, he felt hot blood. He urged his body to run or just do something, but he was frozen in place.

All sound around him diminished. He could hear his breathing, thick and uneven.

In front of him, the water slopped. It was moving. Something was coming through that gate, and Tim was in its path. He tried to move again, but his body didn’t react. His mind was racing, but the moment he saw the shape in front of him, it stopped.

Whatever it was, it breathed. Tim’s hair shifted. It came forward, and this time, when it touched him, Tim saw everything.

He could barely scream before he was raked under water.

***

“I didn’t feel anything. Did you?” Dick was sitting in his corner of the pentagram that Jason had made, carefully avoiding all of the intricately drawn sigils that Damian had added. He was holding a towel to the palm of his hand, which was still bleeding.

From across the room, Jason was seated, eyes darting around cautiously.

Damian, outside of the pentagram completely, was glaring at him. “How did you break it this time, Todd?”

“I didn’t.” Jason was on his feet instantly, and he tip-toed through the gigantic pattern, eyeing each of the markings he had made. “Everything I added is exactly the way it should be. What about your sigils? Are they all connected?”

Damian raised an eyebrow. “You’re asking if I messed up the language of the dead?”

Jason glared at him. “The way I see it is that you’re more likely to screw up because you’re a half dem—“

“We checked it three times,” Dick interrupted. “Maybe the tear was small enough that the seal wouldn’t react the same as it did the first time?”

Jason shook his head and stalked the outline of the circle he’d meshed with Dick’s blood. He scrutinized it, making sure there weren’t any gaps. “It’s the way it should be…”

“The rift feels different.” Damian shifted on his feet. “Not smaller…just different.”

“And you made sure each of the gates were locked and that the runes were still intact, right?” Jason eyed Dick warily, looking on edge. This wasn’t the sort of thing that they could screw up; not without consequences.

“I checked all of them.” Dick nodded patiently, understanding the way that Jason worked. He was a genius in his own right when it came to these sorts of things.

Damian decided to study the work he’d done, even though he was lazy about it. It was rare he made mistakes, and if he did, they were never on things as banal as his own language.

“If the rift gets any bigger, we’re going to have to bring in other orders.” Jason slammed his fist against a wooden post, and spat, “Fuck.”

Dick came up beside him. “I’ll call Bruce, if you’re sure it didn’t work.”

Jason looked over to Damian, who shrugged. “It’s hard to tell. And I’m not going down there, so don’t even ask.”

The towel on Dick’s hand was soaking through, and Jason waved him off. “Go stitch that up.”

“I’ll help.” Damian jogged after him, and Dick gave Jason one last glance before leaving the room.

Jason stared at the floor, angry to the point of numbness. “It’s a little hard for me to repent when you’re not on my side,” he said to no one in particular.

Outside, the wind howled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the bookmarks. I've got five chapters written and posted on tumblr, so I'm just going to add the rest here. :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I will freely admit that cherry syrup scribbled on walls belongs to an author, Tanya huff, in her amazing and highly recommended Smoke trilogy. Read it! One of the best supernatural series I have ever read.

The cashier was a wiry old man, and his face fell the moment that Tim tore through the doors, soaking wet, covered in muck. The florescent lights lining the ceiling of the shop blinked on-and-off sporadically, as if fighting to stay lit. The three channels of security the store had running fizzled to blank, static screens. A small radio hidden behind the counter whistled at it lost its frequency, or was intercepted by another.

“H-help…” Tim’s voice wasn’t working the way it normally did. It was raspy and thick, and the vowels seemed to stick in his throat. He tumbled forward, arms grasping for something—anything to hold onto. He caught himself against a rack of candy bars and sent a majority of them scattering to the floor.

His eyes stung; they weren’t working. Tim scraped his fingers over his lids and rubbed. The world was a blur of rich and vibrant colors that bled together like spilled ink. He was surrounded by shapes that very rarely slipped into focus and made sense. Even walking felt unfamiliar, and Tim lurched forward, knocking boxes and bottles from a shelf as he clung to it.

“Hey, are you all right?” The cashier called out. He’d just yanked the radio’s cord from the wall, since the volume controls seemed to have no effect on the screeching. From below his aged hands, the glass casing protecting the store’s supply of scratch tickets began to crack, and he wobbled backwards, looking terrified.

“What the hell?”

To Tim, the world was screaming. His temples were throbbing and there was noise—not sounds, not voices, not even words—just a blaring discord that echoed and pounded so loud that he flinched and fell to his knees, pressing his hands to his ears.

The floor was a writhing tremor beneath him as the few remaining customers of the store scrambled to get outside. The cashier left with them as soon as the plexiglass doors that lined the back wall of refrigerated drinks began to fold in on themselves.

Tim sank lower to the floor, still clutching his ears, and breathed, “P-please…”

With every hammering beat of his heart, Tim felt heat radiate. It was like a fever multiplied by ten. More than that, a voice had emerged inside of his head; a dark and seething whisper that sounded from deep inside of him, and made his stomach roil.

Hunched over, Tim threw up. He coughed until his throat felt scoured, and started shaking when he realized that his nose was not only running; it was bleeding. He was sinking into something; he could feel it. He couldn’t think straight. His senses were inhibited. His body was reverting to instinct.

The dark voice was telling him to let go, to submit.

Tim’s stomach churned as he curled against the floor and threw up again. His arm clumsily dragged across a shelf, and he grabbed a bottle of cough syrup. There had been a time, once, when he’d seen too much; made himself sick with memories that weren’t his. At the time, he’d drowned them out with alcohol. He’d simply gone numb.

He tore off the bottle’s plastic wrapper downed the whole bottle.

The world spun and his mind was suffocated by vagrant flashes of horrible scenes of burning people, peeling flesh, and creatures that only existed in nightmares. His head was still throbbing, and for the smallest instant, a memory of his own resurfaced, mixed in with the disturbing images he didn’t recognize at all.

It was his father, handing him a slip of paper. “Don’t let me down, son.”

Tim clenched his fists. His ears were bleeding. He could feel it, but the danger didn’t register. He took a few bottles of cough syrup for the road. The first had numbed his mind enough so that he could crawl to his feet and leave.

There was one thing that kept him going; one thought that stayed with him as he struggled to remember anything he could over the chaos controlling his mind.

Dick will help me.

***

“Dick, your phone’s going off,” Jason said, without much volume. In all honestly, he didn’t care if it got missed or not. When he received no answer, he shrugged. “Don’t say I didn’t try.”

He shifted on his feet and picked up another book from the table, skimming its contents with tired eyes. Dick’s phone, which was only about three feet away from him, fell to silence.

Immediately after, it rang again.

Aggravated, Jason leaned across the table to grab it, knocking a few books to the floor in the process. He pressed it tight to his ear. “Yes?”

“…ck…”

Jason scowled. “What?”

The line was silent, save weak and belabored breaths from the other line. Jason rolled his eyes.

“Worst phone sex ever,” he said loudly, and hung up. He tossed the phone onto the table space before him, and rolled his eyes. “Gotta stop giving your number to strangers, Dickie-boy…”

From beneath the book he’d been reading, he spotted an old journal of Bruce’s and plucked it out. It was tattered and worn, and was full of the Wayne heir’s masculine scribbles. Jason had to squint to pick some of the words out, and his shoulders fell when Dick’s phone sounded for the third time.

He swiped it up.

“You do know that called ID exists, right? Mr.—“ Jason pulled the phone away from his ear and inspected its display screen. “—Windham Hotel?”

“…p…lease…”

Jason’s eyes narrowed. “Who is this?”

“Three…thirteen…” the voice said, and then there was only the sound of sharp gasps.

Jason didn’t hang up. Instead, he dropped the journal onto the table and stalked out to the main stairway, finding Damian exactly where he’d left him—pouting outside of Dick’s room, bouncing a rubber ball against the wall.

“Is he still in there?”

“No.” Damian didn’t even look at him.

Jason continued to stare at him. “Know when he’ll be back?”

Damian’s palm swallowed the ball in one swift catch and his head whipped to the side. He glowered. “How should I know? I’m not his keeper.”

Jason’s face fell to a deadpanned stare; the same way it always did when Damian snapped at him. Feeling a bit like being cruel, he held out Dick’s phone as though he were dangling a carrot on a string.

“Some guy’s calling for him. From a hotel.”

The teenager was on his feet in seconds and plowing down the staircase like it had caused him some personal offense. He seized the phone from Jason’s hand and hissed, “I’ve killed less deserving creatures than you—”

Jason watched as the younger boy listened, and studied the way Damian’s face changed as he struggled to make out what was on the other end. Suddenly he was glaring at the phone, and then at Jason. “What is this, a joke?”

“What do you hear?” Jason asked, folding his arms across his chest.

Damian flipped the phone flat and hit speaker, and all that came out was static. He ended the call and stared up at Jason. “Your humor eludes me.”

“There was a voice a minute ago,” Jason frowned. “Not static. Why would—“

“The phone is hot,” Damian interrupted while examining the device. He turned it over in his hands and even sniffed it.

Jason watched his fingers as he rubbed them together. “It felt fine to me. No more heat than normal.”

“Devil’s heat,” Damian specified. “And of course it felt fine to you. Your skills at extra sensory perception are, at best, limited compared to mine.”

Crossing his hands over his chest, Jason sank back against the wall and raised an eyebrow. “And your people skills are limited, at best, when compared to a rock’s. Are you saying the phone’s cursed?”

Damian seemed unaffected by the insult, save a small snort. “No.” Damian held the phone back out to him. “I’m stating that whoever called was surrounded by enough of a supernatural heat signature that I could feel it from here. Who was it?”

Jason chewed on that for a moment and turned Dick’s phone around in his hands. He had plenty of friends scattered around, half of which dabbled in the same things he did himself. It was likely that one of them had called, and Jason was pretty sure they sounded like they needed help.

Damian cleared his throat, and when Jason peered down at him, his eyes were wide with irritation. “Well? Who was it?”

Shaking his head, Jason then shrugged. “No clue. But it was from Windham—you know, the hoity-toity hotel by the airport?” He was already moving to grab his boots, missing the days where, if it wasn’t his problem, he’d just leave it alone. These days, anything that was Dick’s problem usually became his own, and vice versa, so he was reluctantly proactive.

“Tch.” Damian watched him move with a cynical stare. “Hoity-toity? Because they require shoes instead of those horrendous things?” He was eyeing the massive leather combat boots that Jason was busy tightening the laces to.

“I don’t do dress codes, kiddo,” Jason stated evenly, the touch of a smirk brushing his lips. “And considering my hand-me-downs tend to be your favorites, I’m thinking there’s a rebel in you, yet.”

The teenager smiled, but it was the kind of expression that reeked of the words, “Yeah, right.” Instead of saying that, however, Damian pointed at Jason’s attire, specifically his jet black collarino. “I would never be caught dead wearing sanctuary with leather boots and—ugh, the jacket. You’re a disgrace to the Chival, Jason. A disgrace.”

Jason looked thoughtful. “I’d like to think I set a good example for my priesthood.”

“Set a good example or leave an impression? I’m pretty sure the order would have you nixed if they knew about what happened.”

“Which is why they don’t know,” Jason replied sharply, the humor in his tone gone. The edge on his words made Damian’s expression change, just slightly. After a second, he went back to looking bored.

“I didn’t say I was going to tell anyone.”

Jason finished lacing his second shoe, and when he felt like the silence had lasted too long between them, he said, “Leave a note for Dick.”

“What? I’m going with you?”

When Jason nodded, Damian fell back against the wall and rolled his eyes. “I don’t want to go with you. Who cares who was calling? Probably just some drunk idiot with an Ouija board. Ten to one it’s Roy.”

“If it’s something real,” Jason glared at him, “then I’m going to need some of this special extra sensory crap you keep going on about having.”

“I do have it,” Damian frowned. “I just don’t feel like tagging along—“

“Life lesson number 274,” Jason rounded a corner, disappearing from view, only to return with Damian’s sneakers in hand. He thrust them forward, taking a small amount of pleasure in the way that Damian was forced into grabbing them against his chest. “If you don’t want people to ask for your help, stop bragging about everything you can do all of the goddamn time.”

The message seemed to soak in, and Damian, scowling, stalked to over to the counter and scribbled angrily onto a notepad for Dick to read later. He pulled his shoes on afterwards, and Jason dug through the cupboard and tugged out the bag he always took when he went hunting. At the sight of it, Damian frowned.

“What are you bringing that for?”

Jason shrugged it over his shoulders and raised an eyebrow at the kid, undoubtedly staring at him like the question was absurd. “I’m preparing for the fact it may not be Roy drunk and doing a séance.”

Damian shook his head and started for the back entryway to the church, grabbing his helmet from the stairwell’s banister before slipping outside. Jason was after him in an instant, and together, they marched towards Jason’s motorcycle which was parked in a gravely driveway that curled into the church’s courtyard.

“Dick went to pick up father from the airport,” Damian admitted suddenly, and Jason snorted.

“I figured as much.”

Damian pulled his helmet on rolled his eyes. “He wouldn’t let me go with him.”

“He probably had things to say he didn’t want you to hear.” Jason made sure his bag was tight on his shoulders, and tugged a garish red helmet onto his own head. As Damian climbed onto the bike behind him, Jason added, “Don’t take it so hard. He doesn’t tell me either.”

When Jason felt Damian’s hands clutch the leather of his jacket, he took off. The streets sped by, and Gotham was transformed into a blur. Streaks of color painted the sides of his vision, and Jason could feel his temper flaring with every second he had alone with his thoughts.

Bruce is back, he told himself. The thought repeated itself over and over, like a tune he couldn’t quite shake. There had been a time when he’d hear those words and be elated, but things had changed. He didn’t even care that things weren’t the same—he just hated what they’d become.

Most of all, he hated making mistakes—ones he knew that Bruce would approach with, “You should have been able to handle this.”

Hands tightened on his waist, and Jason realized that he was speeding. He slowed a bit, weaved through some traffic, and spotted the hotel just beyond the overhang of the freeway. It was a gray white building with traditional architecture—traditional by Gotham standards, anyway—and from the sky it would have looked like a U. It had valet service, but Jason promptly sped past.

No one touched his bike except for him.

The parking garage was fairly full, so Jason made a couple of rounds before he found a nice, secluded spot. When he pulled off his helmet he realized that the sky was beginning to darken. Instinctively, he yawned. He hadn’t slept since the ceremony—afterwards he’d been reading up as much as he could to settle his paranoia that something had gone wrong.

“It’s going to rain again,” Damian said from behind him, after pulling off his own helmet. “And though I loathe admitting that you’re right, this place feels weird.”

It was a nice enough hotel that they trusted leaving their helmets with the bike.

A couple came past them, headed towards the outdoor elevators, and Jason snapped his fingers at Damian and motioned him to follow. One good thing about Gotham was that, for the most part, it was predictable. Most of the buildings were ancient, and because there were always storms brewing, the parking garages always had hallways that led to the main building, protecting guests from the weather.

It was just a matter of getting to the floor you wanted, and having a passcard to get in.

Jason caught the elevator doors just before they closed and smiled devilishly at the couple, turning on his natural charm. “May we?”

Damian squeezed in past him and even though Jason hadn’t said anything provocative, the woman blushed.

The elevator ride was short, and Jason and Damian followed the couple quietly, slipping into the main building by way of their keycard. Unfortunately, the couple they had followed inside were staying on the fifth floor, so Jason immediately began to search for the main interior stairwell.

“Don’t do that again,” Damian stated placidly, following Jason with a scowl on his face.

Jason turned a corner and tossed a glance over his shoulder, an eyebrow raised. “What?”

“Snap your fingers at me,” Damian replied, as if he’d been prepared to explain. “Like I’m some sort of animal.”

“Pff,” Jason waved it off and motioned towards a thick metal door labeled ‘stairs’. “Next time I’ll just say, ‘Hey Damian, let’s just follow these unsuspecting people into the hotel and look like we belong’.”

The door creaked when Jason shoved it open, and Damian snorted. “I’m not an animal.”

“So what, should we speak Arabic?” Jason took a few steps down the stairs and then pointed out, “I don’t know any Arabic.”

“You barely know Latin. No, wait, that’s Dick,” Damian’s nose scrunched up after the mistake. “Just don’t boss me around.”

Jason stared at the moping teenager and then sighed. “It’s effective, you have to admit.”

Damian rolled his eyes and nearly pushed past Jason when they reached the third floor doorway. As he stalked out into a main hallway, he said, “It will effectively cause me to avoid you, and—“

Jason’s hand sank over his shoulder and Damian suddenly went quiet, eyes narrowed. He had felt it too.

“Devil’s heat,” Damian stated.

“I can feel it this time,” Jason noted. “It’s really hot.”

“The lights,” Damian stepped out into the hallway, where all of the overhead fluorescents flickered and buzzed. There was an abandoned house keeping cart at the end of the hall, and a woman collapsed beside it.

“Damian—“

“On it,” the boy said, and he was off, edging down the hall, cautious and quick. He was at the woman’s side by the time that Jason found the door he wanted.

“Three-thirteen,” he murmured to himself. He pulled back his jacket and felt for the blade he always kept there. He could feel it stronger now—the drowsy power from within the hotel room pulsating, slow and precise.

Jason turned to Damian and snapped his fingers to get the teenager’s attention, trying to keep quiet. The action earned him a glare that, years ago, might have actually killed him. Rolling his eyes, Jason motioned towards the unconscious maid and said, quietly, “Toss me a key card.”

“Not an animal,” Damian seethed, but he plucked a plastic card from her hand and tossed it in Jason’s direction.

After scooping it up, Jason let himself in.

The sensation hit him at once—like a gust of hot air that smelled of cinder and coal, and strangely, like cherries. He breathed through it and blinked, and as he looked inside of the hotel room, he felt his blood run cold.

Red markings, everywhere. Advanced runes and reversed pentacles—the types of sigils that brought things over—that woke the very creatures that Jason had dedicated his life to killing—demons.

“Fuck,” Jason stepped inside, feeling overwhelmed. In all of the years that he’d hunted, he’d never seen something quite like this. The words on the wall—the language of the dead—everything was so incredibly precise. The symbols were perfectly spaced, like an equation, and Jason only recognized about three-quarters of the script.

“Jason, I can’t get in.”

Damian’s voice caught him by surprise, and Jason whirled around to face him.

“What do you mean you can’t—“ the words died on Jason’s tongue as he stepped back a few steps, eyeing the doorframe in bewilderment. “It’s the Fifth Pentacle. The same one we use on the gates.”

There was an overturned chair beneath it—a sign that someone had climbed up high enough to scribble the symbols out. They weren’t as delicately drawn as the others; they looked more like images sketched from a blurry memory.

“Jason,” Damian snapped, impatiently. His eyes darted from wall to wall, reading the sigils carefully. “Break the seal. Come on—“

The door slammed shut, cutting his demand short. The action startled Jason and he jumped. He found himself turning around slowly, the hairs on his neck rising with the feeling that someone was watching him. He expected to see much more than a dark shadow of a person curled on the floor, tucked away against the wall farthest from the door.

“Hey,” Jason said lightly. Blue eyes watched him from underneath a mess of sopping wet hair. They were dull. They were familiar.

Jason took another step forward and the widened, just barely, and the man’s lips moved but no words came out.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Jason automatically echoed what Dick always said on the rare occasions that they happened upon a possession. After hearing how the words sounded coming from his own lips, he shrugged. “Well, I might not hurt you. What’s your name?”

The man’s eyes darted left, and Jason followed the gaze to a table by an armchair. He waited for those blue eyes to come back to his own and then he made his way to the table, and picked up a wallet.

His face fell when he opened it and stared at the person’s picture ID. “You’ve got to be shitting me.”

“Jason! Are you all right?” Damian pounded on the door and his voice was muffled. In response, Jason dropped the wallet back onto the table and shouted back, “Damian. Call Dick. Tell him it’s that psychic kid from last night.”

There was a pause and then, “…what?”

“Just do it!”

Jason could feel the power ebbing, slow and steady. Mixed in with it was the Devil’s heat, which made the room feel thick and weighted. It was strange. Most of the time, when he felt this much underworld aura, it was erratic. In this case, it almost seemed controlled.

“Your name is Tim, right?” Jason knelt down next to him and immediately winced. “You smell like a sewer.” He poked him, and realized that the shirt he was wearing was actually blue, but caked in mud, appeared black.

He thought about what he said. He glanced back at the doorframe, the wheels in his head turning. He did little to quell the brief bit of anger that spilled through him.

“Please tell me you weren’t actually in a sewer.”

The man’s lips were moving slowly, but still, there was no sound. His eyes were glazed over, and Jason ground his teeth together.

“This is why I hate clair’s.” He slapped his hand against Tim’s forehead. “Always getting involved with things you don’t understand, and fucking it up for the rest of us—holy shit, you’re on fire.”

He missed the moment when Tim’s eyes lightened, just briefly, at the contact. He did notice, however, the red liquid pooling on the carpet beneath the two of them. A spurt of fear shot through Jason, just enough to remind him he was human. He wasn’t willing to have yet another death on his hands.

He yanked Tim up by his filthy sweater and shoved his hand beneath it, battling two more layers of cloth before he found skin. His fingers searched for the wound that could have caused the blood, and Tim’s head fell against his shoulder.

“…syrup,” the whisper was faint, but Jason heard it. He rolled his eyes. “I’d love pancakes too, but I’m a little busy saving your life.”

The next whisper was louder, but strained. “Cough syrup.”

Jason pulled back and looked Tim in the eye, before dabbing his finger in the mess beneath him, and bringing it close to his nose.

“Cherry,” he said. He looked at the walls, at the markings. It was strange how red they were, now that he thought about it. Something close to relief swept through him when he realized they weren’t written in blood.

Sigils were always more powerful when written in blood.

“Good boy…” Jason murmured against Tim, and then struggled to rifle off his layers. Tim was like a limp doll, and when Jason finally managed to peel the last shirt off, he felt his pulse speed up a bit.

“Where did this come from?” his fingers trailed a cut on his neck—only it was much bigger than that. A slice that was bubbling and had strange little marks of its own branching out from the corners.

Jason felt sick looking at it. If it was what he thought it was—“No, that’s impossible,” he told himself. He pressed his hand to Tim’s forehead again and winced. He brushed Tim’s bangs from his eyes and snapped, “You should be dead by now. Do you know that?”

Jason hoped that Tim heard the edge on his words. He hated saving people that had already dug their own graves through stupidity. Still, he guessed that Tim’s fever was past the point of chronic. He looked half lost in a trance, but Jason knew the pain he was in.

Tim’s nose started bleeding, and the power in the room thrummed.

It was what Bruce called the Snatcher Cycle. Jason remembered the spiel about all demons being different. Some could last hours in a human body, the majority fizzled in minutes. They mostly tried to nest as long as they could, but since human bodies weren’t meant for power, their home-stay was short lived.

The one inside Tim had been there for hours—too long. It was strange, Jason thought while looking at him, that he almost seemed to be surviving it.

“We’ve got to get your fever down,” Jason decided. “Your soul is one thing, but your brain can only take so much.”

He hefted Tim up, surprised at how much heavier he was than Jason expected. He had a bit of muscle, and if he’d really gone deep enough into the sewers to reach the Pentacle Gates, he had to be in shape.

Strange, for a psychic.

When Jason smacked his foot against the shower lever, cold water splattered down to the tub. He dumped Tim in as carefully as he could and noticed that his lips had started moving again, speaking silent words.

The bathroom door slammed shut. Things began to rattle. Tim was losing control. Jason watched as he curled into a fetal position on the tub’s floor and pressed his palms to his ears.

“Come on, you’ve got to fight it.” Jason climbed in with him, pulling Tim between his legs, and hauling his back to rest against his chest. The water was freezing. It seemed to do nothing to cool Tim.

The mirrors made small ticking noises before cracks splintered their surfaces, and Tim clawed at Jason’s legs, gathering jean between his fingers and squeezing until his knuckles turned white. His eyes were clenched shut.

Jason pulled a flask from his jacket pocket and unscrewed the top with numb fingers. He pressed the bottle to Tim’s lips and hissed, “Drink it.”

Tim’s lips parted and he choked down a couple of gulps before coughing. He sank back against Jason, breathing hard.

“What’s its name?” Jason said, his voice low.

Tim panted and shifted on top of him. He didn’t answer.

“I can’t exorcise it if I don’t know its name, Tim,” Jason stated.

Tim still didn’t give him one.

Jason curled his fingers around Tim’s forehead and he tipped his head back against the tiles, feeling aggravated and worthless as Tim battled alone. It was a powerless feeling for him, even though he knew that it was a matter of time before the demon won, and he simply had another dead body on his hands. 

Even so, Tim was stubborn as he clung to life, murmuring, "Please don't leave."

Jason sighed and looked up to the ceiling, realizing that he couldn’t feel the water anymore. Tim was still warm above him. “As long as you don’t die, I’ll be right here.”

Tim nodded against him.

Jason hoped that Dick would show soon, and for once, he was actually looking forward to seeing Bruce.


	5. Chapter 5

Numbness.

It was a feeling that started at the base of Tim’s skull and weighed his body down like lead. His breathing was sluggish. His chest felt tight. He couldn’t feel his fingers or his toes, and opening his eyes only gave him a blurry impression of the room around him.

Tim swallowed and his throat was like sandpaper. He coughed and licked his lips, tasting beads of water there. He tried to open his eyes again, and this time, he could at least make out his surroundings. They fit with a blur of memory he had from a time that seemed like ages passed. One where he’d been dragged into a bathroom by—

A rush of breath tore itself from Tim’s throat when he remembered. Adrenaline sent a renewed sense of life through him, and even though the water pounding down from the showerhead was ice cold and his limbs felt frozen, he found it in his power to move. His feet shifted. His fingers tightened.

He froze for a second and lulled his head to the side. Resting beside him were his own fingers, laced with someone else’s. He felt the rhythmic rise and fall of steady breaths behind him; the warmth of a chest pressed to his back. And now, he heard the faintest hint of breathing.

Instinct had him yanking his hand away, trying to sever whatever contact he’d made. But the moment he was freed, his vision went spotty and red, and he felt sick. He pressed his hand back against the other, and relief washed through him.

“You awake?”

The voice was hoarse and it sounded so close to Tim’s ear that he almost jumped. If he hadn’t been so cold, he might have. He frowned, and tried to raise his foot enough to hit the water-control handle, and shut the cold blast off. His attempt was weak at best, and from behind him, the tired voice muttered, “I’ve got it.”

Tim’s head spun as he was uprighted, and he clenched his eyes closed when the spray descended on him. Icy water pelted his head and shoulders, and when he shivered, the voice from behind him murmured, gruffly. “Hold on.”

The stranger reached forward and tugged the handle down, ending the downpour that had them both freezing and drenched. Tim felt dizzy and discombobulated, and blinked a few times, waiting for the room to fade from three of everything, to two, and finally to one.

“Where am I?” It was barely as loud as a whisper.

A snort sounded from behind him. “A bathtub, it would appear.”

Tim retraced his steps, mentally, and only earned flashes. He’d been in the sewer; he’d found the gun. There had been a gate with strange markings…and something else. A creature? The images following were smeared. There had been a gas station, and cherry-red cough syrup. A voice that told him to do things, to draw things with his own blood. He hadn’t.

Tim turned, slowly, as much as he could before his muscles refused to strain themselves any further. He saw a face that was familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it.

“You…” Tim said, searching his memories. “You were at the church…”

Irritated blue eyes narrowed in response. “You remember?”

Tim still looked like the cogs in his head were turning. “Yes…but not your name.”

“That’s because I never gave it to you.”

“Oh.” Tim replied simply. A dazed look was beginning to filter his face, and his eyes dulled a bit.

In response, whether out of pity or frustration, the stranger groaned. “Jason. My name is Jason. Don’t go falling asleep on me again.”

The intensity behind his words sent some life back into Tim’s eyes, and his gaze drifted from the white tuft of hair that mingled with the rest of Jason’s black, down his slender nose, and to—

“Your lips are blue.” Tim frowned.

“Yeah, that tends to happen when you sleep under freezing cold water all night,” he practically drawled. And then, as if not to be outdone, he added, “You smell like shit. Literally. Which tends to happen when you swim in sewers. You better pray that you’re not the reason my life’s turned to shit the past couple of days.”

Despite the anger in his tone, he wrapped his palm around Tim’s forehead and then snorted. “I can’t tell if your temperature’s high or if I’m on the verge of hypothermia.”

“I’m sorry,” Tim murmured awkwardly, not entirely sure what he was apologizing for. Jason shifted behind him, and Tim glanced around the bathroom, swallowing thickly at the cracked mirrors and slitted wallpaper. The porcelain lid of the toilet was smashed, and some of the tiles lining the tub had splintered to fragments.

“What happened?” When Tim asked, his voice sounded distant, even to his own ears.

The question was amusing, apparently, because Jason barked out a laugh as he attempted to shift positions—for the first time throughout the night. “You happened,” he snorted, rubbing life back into one of his thighs. Tim kept a firm grip on Jason’s other hand, feeling an unintelligible terror at the thought of letting go.

Blinking through tired eyes, Tim frowned. “There’s something inside of me, isn’t there?”

The comment seemed to catch Jason off guard, but instead of answering, he merely narrowed his eyes. He had the expression of someone who’d spent years practicing the motto of ‘you’re better off not knowing’.

“I can still feel it,” Tim cleared his throat, hating how raspy his voice sounded. “I can still hear it.”

When Jason’s free hand settled onto Tim’s shoulder, he felt caught between feeling safe and threatened. Tim, who had dedicated his life to staying as far from contact with others as possible, jumped, and his heart hammered in his throat when Jason leaned in close, lending advice as though he was speaking a curse.

“Whatever happens to you, just remember that you brought it onto yourself.”

Tim sank under the weight of the words.

A piece of loose tile finally fell out of place and clinked to the tub bottom in front of Tim. He watched it fall, almost in slow motion. When it shattered, a chill raced through him. His head came up and he glanced towards the bathroom door, feeling his heartbeat crescendo with fear. Before he knew what he was talking about, his breathing hastened and he said, “One got in.”

He couldn’t explain it; it was just a sense. He didn’t know what the markings he’d scribbled over the door meant, only what they did. He knew that much from the voice inside of him—it was meant to keep things locked in—or in his case, out. And now, he could tell that something had broken past it. Something very strong. Something like—

“They’re in here,” a teenager stalked in, hands in his pockets, his expression vicious. Tim recognized him immediately as the kid he’d seen with Dick at the café—an event that was only days old but felt like part of another lifetime.

“Damian.” The name came out before Tim realized he’d even remembered it. A rush of emotions flooded him at the same time, none of which were his own. His palm slid against Jason’s and he gripped him tightly, seeing Damian as if he had brand new eyes.

It was like watching heat rise from a winding tar road. Like waves of audio, rippling. Damian was an immaculate thing, perfect in every way, except imperfect all the same. In the blink of an eye, Tim saw a boy surrounded by flames that didn’t exist, with eyes that spoke more effectively than lips ever could. They were wholly black, no hints of white, and had an unending depth—one that tempted to swallow Tim completely if he didn’t look away—and the way Damian’s eyes narrowed; it was as though he suspected that Tim really saw him—

“Jay, what the hell’s going—“ Dick’s words stopped short when he pushed past Damian, pulling him back and almost out of sight. In that moment Tim blinked again, and Damian looked as normal as any other teenage boy, except his gaze was cruel and laced with suspicion.

Dick stumbled forward with wide eyes and an outstretched hand, his eyes dancing between Tim and Jason. “Don’t touch…“

Dick’s face fell when he realized it was too late, and he studied Tim’s grip on Jason’s fingers with a wary interest. He was quiet a minute, as if trying to decide what to do, until Jason sighed.

“While I’m sure this is the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen—a priest tubbed up with a possessed idiot—I can promise you it’s not as comfortable as it looks.” Tim felt Jason move from behind him and try to stand, attempting to shake his hand free in the process. Tim’s knuckles went white as he struggled to maintain the contact, even though he was confused as to why he felt he needed it.

Dick saw the effort Tim was making, and could only furrow his brows in perplexity. He took a few steps forward and in one swift movement pulled off his jacket and swung it over Tim’s shoulders.

For the briefest of moments Tim looked panicked, but Dick merely smiled.

“The jacket’s new. I just bought it today, so I’m sure you won’t see much.” he said, and from behind him, Jason raised an eyebrow, obviously questioning the relevance of the comment.

It was the truth. Tim saw steady flashes of a tourist shop sales rack, the inside of a cab, and the white washed walls of an airport waiting area. He pulled the jacket tighter around him with his free hand and tried to ignore the glare from the teenager standing behind Dick.

Tim kept his lips pressed tightly together, the way he often did when he opted to control his expression and appear unreadable. It was a talent he’d long mastered, and Dick recognized it. It made the corners of his eyes crease with worry. “What happened?”

Tim’s lips started to move, but an aggravated Jason cut him to the chase. “You saw the Pentacle on the doorframe, didn’t you? He sabotaged one of our gates.”

Dick frowned and moved his eyes away from Tim’s and up to Jason’s. “I highly doubt that. I told you that I checked them all—“

“There was a two hour gap before we actually performed anything, Dick,” Jason snapped, and Tim sank into the jacket further. Even while clenching Jason’s hand, he could feel something writhing inside of him, and as the two argued, the feeling grew more uncomfortable.

“Tim, what happened?” Dick blatantly ignored Jason, who once again attempted to shake away Tim’s grip. Tim refused to let go.

“Jay, stop,” Dick placed his fingers on Jason’s arm, watching as Tim forced his eyes closed, but held onto Jason so tightly that Jason hissed, “Stop what? Trying to get this leech off of me? I’m losing circulation to my hand, here!”

A moment passed as Dick studied Tim’s condition, and weighed consequences in his mind. He shook his head and said, “Sorry Timmy.” Ignoring the way Tim’s eyes darted open and snapped to him, he spoke quickly to Jason.

“Tim’s not normal,” he stated as best as he could.

“Dick—“ Tim started, but Dick merely continued.

“He’s more of an empath than a clairvoyant. A good one. He can read anything he touches.” He tapped Jason’s wrist with his forefinger, indicating their hands.

Unfortunately, the explanation only seemed to incense Jason further. His eyes dimmed and within seconds he was shifting to get up, prying his fingers away from Tim’s in a hasty and impatient way.

“Let go of me.”

Tim battled to keep the connection, but Jason snatched his hand away with such a force that Tim’s fingers stung. A wavering heartbeat pounded against his temples, in cadence with a dull murmur in the back of his head. He pulled his hands to his ears, even though he knew it wouldn’t do anything to cure him because the voice was inside of his head.

Jason nearly stumbled over him climbing out of the tub, and shoved Dick roughly in the chest. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me before? And what the fuck does that mean, anyway? That he can read me?”

Damian, who normally would have been running to Dick’s defense, merely shifted on his feet and frowned. “I’ve never heard of anything like that. Not with humans, at least.”

Tim caught the comment through the commotion in his mind, and tilted his head up to look at Damian once again. Not with humans?

Dick held his hands up in surrender and focused on Jason, who had a dangerous tint to his eyes. “I don’t know how it works, just that it does. He sees the history of things—objects, people—“

Jason paled and his disposition only darkened. “He’s seen my memories?”

Waving his hands, Dick looked worried for Tim’s sake. “I was going to tell you when I brought him to the church, but you really didn’t give me a chance.”

It was obvious that Jason was grinding his teeth from behind his closed lips. He tossed an uncaring glare towards Tim. “There’s something inside of him. Do you know what that means? Whatever the hell it is, it knows me. It’s seen what I’ve done.”

A silence stretched between them, and brought a discomforting gravity along with it.

From the bathtub, Tim forced out a few words between breaths. “It was white.”

His voice was so soft that Dick barely caught the words. When he did, his expression fell a bit. From behind him, Jason raised an eyebrow.

“What’d he say?”

Dick bit his lip and turned, watching as Jason crossed his arms over his chest and raised an eyebrow.

“Just white…” Tim repeated, closing his eyes as a cold sweat started to break out on his forehead. He was starting to look how he felt—exhausted, and it took a serious effort to keep his eyes at least half opened.

“What is he talking about?” Shifting on his feet, Jason cast a sideways glance at Dick.

“That he didn’t see anything,” Dick said, and somehow the words made his shoulders fall.

“Bullshit,” Jason scowled. “Of course he’s going to lie and say that.”

“Jay,” Dick narrowed his eyes and his tone fell.” I don’t think he saw anything.”

Damian swallowed thickly and loaned Jason a sympathetic look. After the words seemed to sink in, Jason’s anger dimmed, but only minimally. “Yeah, I guess he wouldn’t see anything, would he?”

Like a mantra, in between breaths, Tim repeated, “Just white…”

Quiet lingered.

Jason’s pride didn’t let it last long.

“Where’s Bruce?” he changed the subject, and Dick, nursing a sad expression, shrugged.

“The front desk, paying the hotel off. He saw the room and told me he’d take care of it.”

“Well, your little psychic did a number to it,” Jason glowered at Tim. “Whatever’s inside of him is something I’ve never seen. It didn’t talk to me once. No name, no origin—plus it’s survived the Cycle. That’s only happened, what? Twice before?”

“Three times,” Damian answered mutely, watching Tim from beneath his thick lashes. “Are you sure he’s not with the League of Shadows?”

Dick shook his head and pushed himself up, his calves beginning to ache from crouching down. “No, I don’t think so. He’s always been really cautious about his abilities.”

A look of silent intrigue settled in Jason’s features, tinged with suspicion. “Can you get a name out of him?” he nudged Damian in the shoulder, and even though it hadn’t hurt, the teenager rubbed the spot wearily. His young eyes drifted to Dick who looked hesitant.

“Jason, you know that isn’t safe.” Dick reprimanded.

The younger man swept his hair back and glowered. “It’s an option. If we can get the name, the exorcism may not kill him.”

“Dick is afraid that I might kill the clairvoyant,” Damian snorted, obviously offended.

Dick deflated. “I didn’t say that—“

“Then at least let me try,” Damian took a few steps towards the tub, and paused when Tim’s half-lidded eyes met his own. His head tipped to the side, as if he’d found something to study. He held up a hand, his fingers outstretched as if he were reaching forward. His eyes narrowed intently and his mouth formed words that Tim had never heard.

It felt like someone tugging on his lungs. Like a fist was closing around his heart, making it harder to breathe than it had been before.

The murmuring in the back of his mind became clearer, and the base of his skull throbbed when the whispers turned to words, and then to thoughts. He felt like he was being drowned; as if a veil was being pulled over his consciousness—like there was something inside of him being drawn out, and it was clawing past the careful control Tim had been struggling to maintain. 

“Stop.” His voice was gravelly and uncertain, and he tried to suck in a breath of air, but he couldn’t get it down his throat. The voice in his head was louder now, and Tim’s body suddenly felt too small. He felt drugged; yanked underneath a darkness that swelled behind his closed eyes. He could lose himself in it, and it was so tempting, but he held on to the small piece of sanity he had, and fought.

”Well?” Jason’s breath hitched with impatience.

Dick, on the other hand, was starting to look concerned. “Damian?”

Damian shifted, ignoring the both of them. His eyebrows drew inward and his mouth twisted into an angry scowl. The temperature in the room rose. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he pushed deeper into Tim’s mind, trying to draw out what lurked inside.

“S—stop,” Tim arched against the tiled wall behind him and his fingernails clawed at the bed of the bathtub. He swallowed air like a drowning man, and each breath had a distinctly hollow sound.

“Give us a name.” Damian sounded serious, twisting his hand slightly, and the result was a spasm that wracked through Tim’s body with such force that his head smacked against the tiled wall.

“Damian—“ Dick’s voice turned serious, but a raspy voice escaped Tim’s lips and sent a chill up his spine.

“…didn’t expect to see you…” Tim hunched over and dragged his fingers through his hair, his eyes burning under the pain. “…so soon…”

As Tim sucked in air and panted, he sounded every bit like he was choking on the words themselves.

“Your name.” Damian’s nostrils were flaring as he sucked in air through his nose, obviously exerting himself to a degree he wasn’t used to in order to maintain control.

“Damian…” Dick’s warning was almost hesitant as he watched Tim pale more than he already was, scraping at anything he could as though he were suffocating. Even Jason looked a bit on edge, but his resolve held true.

“Tell me your name!” Damian demanded, his teeth bared.

There was a flare of heat that flooded the room, and suddenly Tim went limp. He slumped in a boneless heap, and the power that Damian had summoned suddenly didn’t feel as thick as it had before. 

Dick and Jason exchanged glances, and Damian looked confused. His chest rose and fell with belabored breaths, and he looked to his hand, as if expecting an explanation for what had happened.

“Don’t move.” Jason’s words seemed loud in a room so utterly quiet. He motioned towards Tim, whose head had lifted just enough so that he could gaze at them, sweat-soaked hair clinging to his forehead. Eyes that were normally warm and aware were now tapered under dark lashes; staring coldly ahead.

Slowly, Tim smiled, but it wasn’t Tim smiling at all.

“My, my, grandson, how you’ve grown.”

Damian’s lips drew together in tandem with the slightest narrowing of his eyes, while Dick and Jason stood, prepared for anything and nothing at the same time.

“Impossible.” Dick said so quietly that it couldn’t have even been labeled a whisper. From beside him, Jason took a brave step forward, shielding Damian from sight. Before he could say anything, Tim was talking again, with words that weren’t his own.

“Jason Todd,” Tim smirked, and it was a terrifying look for him. “The priest destined for the In-Between. How does it feel knowing that neither heaven nor hell wants you?”

“I’m going to give you this opportunity to leave the body you’ve chosen. I suggest you take it, before I’m forced to drag your ass out and stick it back where it belongs.” There was a quiet rage behind Jason’s eyes that weighed down the room, making him seem every bit as dangerous as he was.

Tim laughed. “Don’t fool yourself, Father. You couldn’t pull me out if you tried.”

“And why not?” Jason’s tone held no emotion, just intent.

Tim smiled at him, one corner of his lips pulled slightly higher than the other. “It seems he would like to keep me here.”

Jason’s eyes narrowed, and suddenly, the comment was explained. Tim’s expression dimmed and suddenly he was struggling for breath again, his eyes turning vibrant as he writhed and clawed at his head with his hands.

“Get out—“ he murmured to himself. And then, louder, “Get out!”

When the comment left him, so did a rush of energy. It hit Dick, Jason, and Damian like a disastrous gust of wind, sending them half-flying half-stumbling backwards until they collided with plastered walls behind them.

They shifted with varying hisses and groans of pain, and Tim felt his body fall limp, exhausted. He shivered and sank further into the jacket wrapped around his shoulders, too tired to think of what had just happened, or what he’d done.

“What the hell was that?” Jason muttered, pushing himself up.

Something flickered in Damian’s eyes. He stood up and brushed off his shoulders, lips pursed.

“It was a power surge.”

Jason’s disposition darkened more than it already had been. “Well then, looks like we don’t have as much time as we thought, does it?”

Damian didn’t answer, and couldn’t seem to tear his gaze from Tim.

Tim, who was the target of his glare, could see the anger brewing beneath the surface, and the fear that fueled his animosity.

Dick seemed to notice too, because his hand found Damian’s shoulder. It was hastily brushed away.

“Father is here,” Damian spun on his heels and left the bathroom, and Tim’s vision began to blur. His body ached and his head was throbbing, but he didn’t feel as fevered anymore. Exhaustion clawed at his remaining cognizance.

He saw Dick coming towards him before his eyes slipped shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The wonderfully awesome ahjareyn wrote chapter 5.5 because she wanted more Dick/Damian. Here is a link:
> 
> [Hell's First Contact](http://archiveofourown.org/works/384195)


	6. Chapter 6

It was the acrid smell of sulfur that brought him to, and when his eyes blinked open, they burned. Tim flopped forward, sheets and blankets tumbling to his lap, waiting for his eyes to adjust.

As his fingers ran numbly against soft bedding fabric, Tim froze. Goosebumps prickled his skin at a realization—for once, he wasn’t getting a reading on what he touched. The sheets were just sheets, and the blankets were blank canvases beneath the palms of his hands.

It was a nice feeling.

It was so foreign that Tim was terrified of it.

Fumbling, he sluggishly peeled himself out of bed, taking in his surroundings with wide eyes and pursed lips.

Everything was immaculate.

The furniture that crowded the room was age-old antiquity, and tapestries draped windows nearly as tall as the room itself. A chandelier bloomed from the ceiling, a vast flower dripping dewdrop-shaped crystals that caught sunlight to throw against the walls, the flares of color dancing in time with the shifting trees outside.

Tim swung his legs over the bed and his bare feet met aged wood flooring. He waited to see a brief glimpse of something—anything—but nothing came. He was taking a deep breath when white caught his eye from the floor below.

A chalky circle swallowed the entire bed, with intricate lines and shapes painted within. Tim stood up and slowly tip-toed through the pattern, trying to memorize it; doing his best to make sense of it. When he made it to the circle’s edge, he glanced over his shoulder, eyebrows drawn in confusion.

Stepping forward blindly, he smeared the border of the drawing with the heel of his foot. It was an accident; one that sent him gasping for breath, flooded by the feeling that he had broken something.

An unseen weight crushed him, and suddenly he was traveling time with the floorboards. His ability had returned tenfold, and it was all he could do to withstand the feeling of scraping chairs and desks, the padding of feet, every knick and scratch—it was all too much too suddenly, and Tim ground his teeth together, eyes practically sewn shut, using every ounce of his concentration to stave off the imagery.

It worked, but not before he was heaving breaths, sheeted in sweat. When blood stopped throbbing in his temples, Tim glanced idly back at the seal that surrounded where he’d been, a look of wonder on his face.

Had it really blocked his abilities?

A chill raced up his spine, and his eyes anxiously took in his surroundings, pausing on an armchair stacked with clothes. He hesitated on his walk over to it, his hands hovering above a pair of jeans briefly before touching them. He flinched instinctively waiting for something to happen.

Nothing did.

Tim scrambled to tug the jeans on, pausing when he saw a marking scribbled near the side seam. He leaned over to get a closer look, and glanced back at the circle drawn around the bed. From what he could see, they were identical.

“Huh,” he said, only because he wasn’t really sure what to think. He plucked a pair of socks from the pile, found the same drawing etched on the fabric, and tugged them over his feet.

Tim stood silent for a moment, digesting. He ran a hand through his hair and dissected the room, searching for the familiar shell of his phone, or the worn fabric of his backpack.

When he didn’t see them, he frowned. Fear trickled through him as he remembered the gun, and his responsibility to get it to Conner—he didn’t even want to think about how long he’d been asleep.

Half expecting the door to the room be locked, Tim balled his fist in his shirt and yanked it towards him. It opened easily, and he stepped out into a narrow hallway with ornate wallpaper and a long-running oriental rug. For the first time since waking up, he wondered where the hell he was.

The smell of sulfur—the sour scent that he’d woken up to—flooded the hallway, and he followed it, hoping it would lead him to someone familiar. He ended up in a room nearly identical to the one he’d been in, only it was saturated in signs of the modern age—a laptop here, an iPad there, and strings of headphones clinging to one ledge of something or another.

Tim stepped inside, quietly, bumping the door open with his shoulder.

It smelled like something burning—like a chemistry experiment gone wild and wrong. Tim wandered into the room anyway, and his nose led him to the opposite side, to a place on the floor hidden behind a massive four post bed.

There was a sigil sketched there—one with perfect strokes and an intricacy that drew Tim in like a moth to a flame. The chalky strokes bubbled at the edges, and candles surrounded it. A discarded shirt was crumpled at Tim’s feet—one several sizes too big for even himself.

He reached for it, unconsciously, but was distracted when he felt something ripple through him—an energy that was red and molten in his mind, and that made his fingers quiver with anticipation. Before he knew what he was doing, Tim was reaching for the chalk outline of the sigil.

As his fingers scraped the surface, heat singed his very being. A feeling like fire chased his every nerve ending and melted inside of him, doused by something he couldn’t name but could feel all the same—a loneliness that weighed so heavily it was suffocating.

Tim gasped, and in the forefront of his mind, he saw something. Two halves of one whole, cracked down the middle. And there was pain there—unbelievable pain, and suddenly Tim couldn’t breathe—

A hand on his shoulder yanked him backwards, and in less than a second the feeling was gone, and Tim was left flat on his back. Damian stared down at him from above, eyes so full of fury that Tim was forced to fight off a chill.

“I could kill you, you know.” Damian’s lip curled and Tim believed him. “It’d be simple, really. But the problem is that if I did, the thing inside of you would just find someone else to be his host. So, in a way, he’s saving your life. I believe that’s what one would call irony.”

Tim took a few deep breaths, waiting to see what Damian would do, never breaking eye contact. When it was apparent he was at the teenager’s mercy, Damian merely stepped over him, snatched up the shirt from the floor, and pressed it tight to his chest.

Tim shifted to sit up, his eyes trained on Damian’s every movement. Even though his memories were jumbled, he remembered one thing clearly—it was an image, really, burned into his mind. Damian standing a few feet away, arm outstretched, fingers tugging on the invisible strings of his soul.

The same fear he had felt then settled somewhere deep inside of him, and he watched Damian with cautious eyes. He seemed lost in his own thoughts, and Tim couldn’t help but wonder what they were.

“When you knew Dick, was he happy?”

Tim blinked. “What?”

“You heard the question,” Damian’s lashes fell, giving him a predatory look.

Tim raised an eyebrow, as if the way Damian had asked the question implied something hidden beneath the context. Tim wasn’t quite sure what he was getting at.

“Dick is Dick,” Tim answered. “He’s always happy.” It was the truth, at least to his knowledge. Sure Dick had moments where he was frustrated or thoughtful, but he never lingered on negatives.

“You obviously never knew him very well.”

Tim felt offended, and frowned. He could feel the tension growing between them, and he had no idea what its roots were. Aiming to change the subject, Tim swallowed thickly and asked, “What are you?”

Damian’s attention had drifted off to his own thoughts, but at Tim’s question his mood darkened. “If Dick hasn’t told you, then it’s obviously none of your business.”

There was something dangerous in Damian’s eyes, and as Tim was about to make an argument as to how it was relevant to him, footsteps sounded beyond the door.

“What’s going on?” Dick’s voice startled both of them, and Tim turned to see him standing in the doorway. He was shirtless and damp from a shower, towel in hand.

“Your friend is too curious for his own good.” Damian was scowling again, and Tim watched Dick frown before looking down at him.

“I didn’t know you were awake.”

Dick had a knack for snuffing out tension, and Tim’s nerves seemed to settle with his presence. He pushed himself to his feet, careful not to touch anything. “How long have I been out?”

Dick rubbed his towel against his chest and replied, “A little over a day. I don’t think anyone was expecting you to be awake so soon.”

Tim had a thousand questions, but priorities were priorities.

“There was a gun in my hotel room,” he said resolutely. “Do you have it?”

Dick paused for a moment, glancing once at Damian and then back to Tim, before replying, “Yes. We grabbed as many of your things as we could find.”

Tim wasn’t sure whether to be grateful or horrified at the fact, considering some of the confidential paperwork he had stowed away, but hearing that the gun was safe was a huge relief. “Good.”

A moment of silence settled in the room, and Dick, looking hesitant, asked, “Tim, how are you feeling?”

It was a strange question, because at the moment, Tim felt great. He knew what Dick meant though, and shrugged. “Fine, I guess. Except for the fact that the gun I had needs to be submitted yesterday.” The gravity of the case pelted him, and suddenly Tim felt anxious. “Did you happen to rescue my phone? Damnit, I bet Conner’s left a thousand messages…” Tim ran his fingers through his hair and paced.

Dick glanced at Damian. “Do you sense anything?” He motioned towards Tim, and Damian snorted.

“An idiot.”

Dick and Tim managed to scowl at Damian at the same time, and the teenager sighed and stated, “I don’t sense anything.”

Dick shifted his weight, staring at Tim as though he was a puzzle. “This is so interesting.”

“Don’t you mean, ‘accident waiting to happen’?” Damian huffed, looking uneasy.

“Look,” Tim stepped between them. “You can put me in a petri dish later. Right now, I need to get that gun back to town.”

Dick looked vaguely apologetic before toweling some of his hair, which was long enough wet that it nearly brushed the skin of his shoulder. “Hate to break it to you, but it’s not up to us if you get to leave.”

Not even trying to hide his confusion, Tim raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“You’re going to have to go through my father,” Damian stated, and when Tim looked back at him, the teenager smiled sinisterly.

Whipping his attention back to Dick, he pointed at Damian. “He has a father?”

Dick’s mouth opened to answer, but Damian was stomping forward, with offended honor. “Why wouldn’t I have a father?”

Tim threw a glance over his shoulder. “Because you’re not human?”

The look on Damian’s face proved at least one thing; that Tim’s intuition was correct, and that Damian wasn’t human.

“Tim, his dad is Bruce,” Dick attempted to break the tension, but it only led to Tim looking more confused.

“Bruce Wayne? Your dad?”

“My adoptive father,” Dick clarified, and then he nodded towards Damian. “Damian’s real dad.”

Tim swallowed the information without comment and pursed his lips.

Dick eyed Damian. “Where’s Bruce? Do you know?”

“Why are you asking me? I’m not the psychic.” Damian tossed an idle glance at Tim before Dick cleared his throat, not quite threateningly, but enough to draw more information from Damian.

“The study, maybe?” he offered half-heartedly.

Dick’s attention lingered on him, and Tim saw some emotion behind his eyes, but it disappeared before it could be placed. He motioned Tim towards the door.

“Come with me?”

Tim appreciated the fact that it was a question despite the fact he didn’t really have a choice. As he left, he took one last look at Damian—and it was as if he’d been caught in a moment unaware, with sad eyes locked on the floor beneath him, where Tim remembered the sigil had been.

He speculated as to what it did. Looking up at the silhouette of Dick in front of him, Tim found himself wondering if he was special in how he’d been able to smell it; in how he’d been able to touch the marking and feel it.

Thinking of how it had been shielded by Damian’s bed, Tim thought about whether or not Dick had seen it—and then he shook away the thought, thinking of course he knew it was there.

“Where are we?” Tim dismissed his queries, and Dick waved his hand airily as they cruised the hallway seeped in fine furniture and family portraits.

“Wayne Manor.”

Tim gaped. “This is where you grew up?”

“More or less,” Dick sighed, and he stopped suddenly and turned, causing Tim to lurch to a stop to avoid running into him.

“Tim, this is going to be a strange request but…just for now, can you avoid Damian? In a week or so, it will be fine, but now…”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “I’m fine with avoiding him forever.”

Dick frowned at that. “He’s not always like this—well, he is, but right now—“

Tim held up his hands. “Honestly, Dick, it’s fine.” He didn’t want to dive deeper into whatever was going on at this house, and since Damian didn’t exactly seem to be normal—or human, for that matter—it was easier to just avoid the topic completely.

“Okay,” Dick said to him, still looking worried. He relaxed, but just a little. “Okay. Come on.”

Tim followed him again, and this time, the silence was a bit more strained. Tim found himself racing through blurry images of the past few days, chasing memories that he wasn’t sure were real or dreamed. It didn’t bother him as much as he figured it should, probably because he was used to burying bad thoughts in the deepest crevasses of his mind.

He decided to think about something a bit more relevant. “So…the Bruce Wayne, huh?”

“The one and only.” Tim could hear the smile in Dick’s tone.

“Should I be star-struck or terrified?” Tim wondered out loud, taking in the luxury around him with new eyes. He’d known about Dick’s adoption from when they’d lived together, but he’d never asked any questions, mostly because Dick hadn’t told him, he’d figured it out on his own. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what it took to be taken in by a multi-millionaire, and so he’d kept his curiosity to himself.

From in front of him, Dick laughed.

“Maybe a little of both. He’s not like how he is on television.” Dick seemed to think a moment, and threw a serious glance over his shoulder.

“Everything you saw—everything you remember, it was real.”

“I know,” Tim said, and hated how it sounded nonchalant.

“You don’t know the half of it, really,” Dick stated bluntly. “And what you do know, you’re not supposed to. When things like this happen to people—“

“Things like this?” Tim interrupted.

Dick looked at him a moment, and his lips curled into a wry half-smile. “You’re a master of deduction and you haven’t figured it out?”

And Tim had figured it out, to an extent. “I’d hazard a guess that I was possessed.”

“You still are,” Dick pointed out, and Tim felt a bit sick at the thought. He had suspected it, but he felt so normal today that there had been a fair share of hope that he’d conquered whatever was inside him.

Dick’s fingers found his shoulder, and gripped him tightly. “The truth is that…you shouldn’t be alive right now.”

Tim breathed through the anxiety that thought brought him.

“The demon that’s inside of you,” Dick continued, “I mean, you’ve had Ra’s in you for three days now and…well, look at you.”

A moment of silence settled between them, and then Dick was moving again, and Tim was following him down the hallway. “It’s just weird, Timmy.”

“I told you to stop calling me that,” Tim pointed out, but there wasn’t any conviction behind the words. They stepped into a massive room crammed with bookshelves and Tim gawked. “Is this a library or a study?”

Dick laughed at him and jabbed his chest with his forefinger. “Wait here. I’m going to go find Bruce so we’re not doing laps around this place.”

Tim did as he was told, the idea of navigating the house on his own not the least bit appealing. He kept his hands to himself and read the titles of the books that lined the study’s shelves, and felt someone enter the room before he even heard them.

“What do you go by? Tim? Timothy?”

The shadowed figure emerged from the hallway, and the light from the room revealed a man that was familiar—but dangerous in the way that you can only tell when you meet someone in person.

“Tim is fine,” the reply was quick. “And you’re Bruce Wayne?”

The man smiled. “I’d shake hands with you, but…”

The comment was innocent enough, but Tim felt on edge. He wasn’t comforted by the fact that someone as well known as Bruce Wayne knew what he could do.

“Yeah, probably not a good idea, for you at least.” Tim was surprised at how curt he sounded. He tried to amend it. “I really appreciate your hospitality, but at the hotel, I had a gun—“

“The gun is fine,” Bruce waved him off and drifted over to a plush chair beneath the gigantic curtained windows of the room. Shadows drenched him as he sat, and his eyes glittered. “Please believe me when I say that there are other things you should be worried about, Tim.”

Tim shook his head. “I get it,” he said. “I do. I know that something’s wrong with me. But if I don’t get that gun back to my department, an innocent man is going to be convicted of a crime he didn’t commit. Right now, that’s at the top of my priority list.”

“You’re really in no condition to leave the manor,” Bruce shook his head. “Has anyone told you anything about what’s happened to you?”

Tim stood for a minute, trying to decide whether he should feel irritated by the runaround. “I know that I’m possessed, if that’s what you’re asking. And if I felt like a danger to society, I would wholeheartedly agree that it would be a bad idea for me to venture off into the world, like nothing happened.”

Bruce laughed out loud and the genuine humor behind it was startling. When he finished, he crossed his legs. “You’re funny. No wonder Dick wanted me to take you in all those years ago.”

On the verge of another quippy remark, Tim felt his train of thought stumble. There were few times when he felt truly caught off guard, and this was one of them. “What?”

Bruce watched him. “I’m sorry that I said no. I was actually afraid that something like this would happen.” He motioned with his hands, indicating the something like this was their current situation.

Tim wasn’t sure what to say, simply because the thought of being adopted by the Bruce Wayne was a bit baffling.

“How much do you know about Hell?” Bruce interrupted his thoughts.

“I’m not very religious,” Tim admitted.

“I’m not either. But Hell is Hell. It’s got thousands of rankings. If a human becomes a demon, they normally become a second-order. They’re slaves to something higher. The one inside of you—he doesn’t have a higher power. He is a higher power. As a human, he opened the doorway for demons to get through—he earned his right to lead.”

Bruce paused, and Tim nodded.

“There are a few places around the world that demons fear. Giant pits of hellwater that steal souls and trap them; that keep them from going to hell and becoming a part of that higher order. The demon that’s in you—he was trapped in one of those. Now he’s in you.”

Tim shrugged with exasperation. “I get it, but at the moment, I seem to be dealing with it pretty well.”

Bruce grimaced and his expression darkened. “Yes, at the moment. It’s important that you realize just how much danger you’re in. How much danger you can put the people around you in. At the moment, you’re doing fine. But you’ve felt him inside of you—do you really think he’s just going to sit back, relax, and do nothing?”

Tim looked away from Bruce and really thought about what he was asking. “I don’t know what his motives are.”

“Problem number one. You know nothing about him, and he probably knows everything about you.”

Tim felt cold. “What’s problem number two?”

“You’re not ready for problem number two,” Bruce said bluntly. “I don’t even want to approach any of the other problems until I know just how much control you have.”

Tim could see it now—what Dick had meant about Bruce being different on television than in real life. He still had the looks, the charming personality—but there was something else. Something hidden underneath that was rattling. Unsettling.

Slowly, Tim asked. “And how do we figure that out?”

Bruce chuckled, briefly, but there wasn’t anything happy about it. “We test it. Push you to your limits. See how you react.”

Tim tasted fear, thinking of the past few days and how little control he’d had, and how his memories were dotted with scarlet rage. “Can we get him out?”

Bruce looked thoughtful, but not hopeful. He didn’t reply, so Tim got the picture.

It was a case with too many loose ends.

“This has never happened before?”

Bruce shook his head. “And you’re not going to tell anyone about it, either. Or about your other abilities, which are another mystery.”

Tim looked down at his bare hands and jumped when an alternate door to the study burst open. He barely had time to catch what came flying towards him, and scrambled to catch a pair of shoes—his shoes, only clean.

“Funny thing. Dick just told me I’m on babysitting duty.”

Jason was pale and restless, and didn’t bother casting Tim a glance. His attention was solely drawn to Bruce, and Tim noticed that he had his gloves clenched between his fingers.

“We hadn’t gotten there yet,” Bruce was scowling. “But yes.”

Jason continued the conversation as if Tim wasn’t standing three feet from him.

“I’m not entirely sure why we can’t just kill him. You’re the one with the policy, not me, and this kid’s more trouble than he’s worth.”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “This kid is only a few years younger than you. And just because I’m not out hunting vampires and werewolves all day doesn’t make me completely useless.”

Jason pointed a finger at him and hissed, “Don’t joke about that. Vampires and werewolves are dangerous.”

Tim stared at him with a raised brow. “Wait. Are you serious?”

From his place in the darkness of the room, Bruce chuckled.

Jason’s nostrils flared. “How do you not understand how lucky you are?” Jason’s eyes were dark, and it was obvious he didn’t appreciate Tim’s humor. “A weak demon—I mean, a real piece of crap wriggles its way out and possesses someone—at best, that human’s going to last a couple of days. The first day—they lose their mind. Literally. That’s the demon, sinking in—controlling them as best they can. But the more they push, the more they take that person over—“ Jason mimicked an explosion with his hands and Tim flinched. “Then you’ve got the second rate demons—the Followers, we call them. They take over a human and get…maybe two weeks. They leach the human dry as a shell. There’s nothing left when they’re done, and then they just bounce to another body—possess someone else.”

Jason took this opportunity to stalk up to Tim and jab him in the stomach. “And here you are—with what would have been a legion commander shoved in your gut, and you’re going to laugh about it?”

Tim’s expression fell. “Well, what am I supposed to do? It’s not my fault that this happened, and who knows why I’m not dead. Am I supposed to feel bad about that too? That maybe if I had died it would make your life a bit easier?”

Jason opened his mouth to speak but Tim was already going on. “I’ve got bigger things to worry about than myself. Like a man who’s going to get the death penalty unless I get a gun back to claims in—“ his eyes darted across the room, searching for a clock, “—one day. I don’t care what you people want from me after I get that gun back but until then, my past responsibilities are still responsibilities, regardless of how they fall in your priority book.”

Tim made a conscious effort to direct the end of his rant to Bruce, and before he got a reply, an older man stuck his head inside of the room, and while his eyes were serious, his expression was gentle.

“Sir, I’m sorry to intrude but the Commissioner is here…”

Bruce’s shoulders fell and he heaved a heavy sigh. He looked up at Tim. “Jason’s going to go back with you so you can turn the weapon in. But then you’re going to be coming straight back. You may not understand it right now, or feel it, but you’re not all right. And to be honest, none of us, except for Dick, trust you.”

Tim didn’t really find that last fact surprising, but hearing it stung a little. Bruce stood up to leave and gave Jason a significant look, though Tim couldn’t really decide what it meant. When they were alone, Jason stared at him incredulously.

“What?” Tim asked, feeling on guard.

“I’d never want someone to die to make my life easier,” he stated. “But yeah, if I think someone’s a danger to others, I like being proactive.”

“You could have killed me at the hotel,” Tim pointed out, and Jason shook his head.

“You were too unstable. You’re still unstable. When Ra’s decides to leave you, he’ll just bounce to someone else. That’s the way it works. He won’t stay inside of you forever; you can’t keep him there. He’ll get sick of you, he’ll leave, and you’ll die.”

Tim stared at him. “You act like you’ve seen it.”

“All the time," Jason snided. "Sooner or later Ra’s will take you over, no matter how much ESP you’ve got going on.”

Tim plucked his gloves from Jason’s hand and shook his head. “Why’d you even bother helping me in the first place, then?”

Jason gave him a look so serious that it caught Tim off guard. “If I had known it was Ra’s, I wouldn’t have even tried.”

Jason gave Tim a lingering look before he turned on his heels and headed for the door. “Follow the hallway straight to the master staircase. I’ll be out front. Don’t make me wait.”

And then Jason was gone and Tim was alone, again, and feeling even emptier than before.


	7. Chapter 7

It took a few minutes for Tim to collect himself. Doing what he always did when he was anxious, he pushed his own feelings aside in an effort to focus on what was important. At this point in time, his priority was his job.

Taking a deep breath, Tim stepped forward and left the study, following a long hallway to the grand staircase that Jason had mentioned. There was someone waiting for him, and Tim recognized him as the older man that had interrupted their conversation earlier, and pulled Bruce away to deal with business.

Tim’s nose crinkled. Hadn’t he mentioned something about a police commissioner being in the house?

Looking at him now, Tim could tell that he was Bruce’s house service. Probably a personal assistant, or a butler, judging by the dapper jacket he was wearing, and the professional look about him. He had a gleam in his eye that made Tim feel like an ant under a microscope, but there was a kindness there, too, as if he’d seen so much in life that there was little room for judgment anymore. He was holding a familiar bundle in his hands, and Tim recognized it as his jacket.

“Thank you,” he summoned a weak smile and was pleasantly surprised when his jacket felt soft, clean, and void of any imagery. He suspected the symbol was scribbled somewhere on it, though he didn’t make an effort to find it.

“It’s called a luaithrindi knot,” the man said, reaching for the jacket. He held up the sleeve, showing where the sigil had been etched in. “It’s for protection. I tried to put it on as many of your things as I could.”

Tim stared at the design, thinking that it was similar to a Celtic tattoo he’d once seen. He frowned and his gaze drifted from the marking. “Wait, protection? From what?”

“From yourself, of course.” The way the man replied made Tim feel as though he’d asked a stupid question. To fill the silence that was left by Tim’s confusion, the older man politely bowed. “You may call me Alfred. I am a butler of the Wayne household.”

Tim nodded slowly. “I’m—“

“Timothy Drake,” Alfred provided, and then frowned. “Pardon for interrupting, but you should be informed that we all know quite a bit about you already.”

The remark made Tim tip his head to the side, feeling slightly put off. “I’m sure you do.”

There was a shout from downstairs, and because of it, Tim missed the slight change in the butler’s expression—from stern, to cautious. He stared down the massive carpeted staircase to a door that was cracked open, listening to voices that poured out in snippets.

“—really want to know why we would be involved—“ Jason’s tone was irate, and another voice interrupted, much softer, but still firm.

“—always seem to be involved, and I can’t tell you anything else, and you know that.”

Tim was halfway down the stairs when a hand settled on his shoulder, making him jump before throwing a glance over his shoulder. He’d never been shy about listening in on conversations—he was a detective, and it came with the trade.

“The police commissioner,” Alfred nodded towards the opened doorway, and Tim frowned.

“Gotham…” Tim searched his memory for a name. “Jim Gordon?” He’d never met the man, but his boss was in constant contact with him since a lot of their criminals ended up spinning in the Gotham drain.

When Alfred nodded, Tim shrugged himself away and took the rest of the stairs in stride, listening even more intently than before. The air around him felt cold and tense. The hairs on his arms stood on end, and he listened in as closely as he could.

“I just want to know where you were,” the unfamiliar voice sounded again, and Tim stopped just outside the doorway, where he could see the outline of a middle-aged man who was frowning, thick glasses slowly descending his nose. “I’m not accusing you of anything.”

Tim shifted slightly to see Bruce and Jason standing across from him, looking oddly alike with their arms crossed over their chests, wearing matching scowls. Damian wasn’t too far from them, draped on a sitting chair, looking bored. Dick was beside him, sitting on the arm of the chair, looking nervous.

“But you’re saying you suspect us of something, which is practically the same.”

Gaze shifting to the commissioner, Tim watched as the man seemed to sag. “I came here because I wanted to be the one to ask you first. You know that I do what I can to—“

“We know, Commissioner. You’re always helping us a bit more than you should, and we appreciate it.” Bruce’s voice held just enough praise to shoo some of the fight from Gordon’s eyes.

Jason ruined the moment by shifting his body entirely and rolling his eyes. “Yes, because he does so much.”

Dick watched him with reprimanding eyes, and Damian almost smirked.

The commissioner stared at him for a moment, suddenly gaining authority by standing a bit straighter. “I do as much as I can.” And then his eyes shifted to meet Bruce’s. They held each other’s gaze until Bruce finally spoke.

“You can’t tell us what’s going on? Why you’re here?”

It was obvious that Gordon was going to say no, and Tim could feel the heaviness in the room. He could see Bruce’s face harden—the look of a man who was used to knowing everything, and never being denied information.

Tim could also feel something else. Something about the commissioner—a lingering sensation that was familiar, but not to Tim. To something inside of him—to the demon. He felt a surge of need bubble up—he wanted to know what Gordon was talking about, and why he was here. What he’d seen, because Tim knew, without knowing, that it was important.

Tim turned around, feeling Alfred behind him. He tugged off his gloves and handed them to the older man. “Keep them safe?”

“I don’t think you should—“

But it was too late, and Tim was already dipping into the room.

“I thought I recognized you,” Tim felt everyone’s eyes settle on him. He ignored it. He only cared about one person’s attention, and that was the commissioner. “So tell me, are all of the stories true?”

Jim Gordon watched him closely, naturally untrusting. “Depends on the storyteller.”

Jason took a deep breath through his nose, reminding Tim of a bull preparing to charge, and Tim pretended he didn’t know he was the target.

Tim smiled. “I don’t know—Kori’s not the lying type.”

A second passed where Tim wondered if the commissioner knew Detective Ander’s first name, but when his expression lightened, Tim felt a small swell of success.

“And why is a federal agent telling you about me?” Gordon asked, his tone mixed with curiosity and pride.

Flattery always worked for Tim, in terms of luring people in, and he could only think, Hook, line, and sinker.

“I’m Detective Drake. Kori and I do partner cases, and you’re one of the few people she brags about having met.”

He held out his hand. Every eye in the room followed it.

Jason moved forward.

Too late, Tim thought.

Their skin met, and the room faded around the contact. The commissioner didn’t notice, of course—he was laughing, saying something about how he hadn’t seen Detective Anders in years, and while Tim nodded in all of the right places, sparks were flying in his mind.

Reading objects was one thing; people were another. Images in memories were clearer, crisper, the colors vibrant and desperately beautiful. Sometimes thoughts formed colors that didn’t even exist, and Tim swallowed them whole.

The rush of information was always a strain. It had taken Tim a long time to learn how to control the intake, and even now, his technique wasn’t perfect. Luckily, the commissioner’s thoughts were lingering on something, and Tim followed the wispy trail, enjoying the way it seemed to sate his curiosity the closer and closer he burrowed in.

Sooner than he’d expected, he was face to face with images burned into the forefront of Gordon’s mind. The case he couldn’t talk about—the reason for him being at the manor.

A body. What was left of it, anyway. It looked like a walnut shell, cracked open down the middle, dried up and leathery. Stringy hair fell in clumps around what used to be a person’s face, and Tim felt his stomach drop when he realized there were no eyes, just black holes. The skin seemed to have shrunk, too—peeled back, revealing stringy pink muscle, and in some places, bone.

Swallowing the familiar tang of bile in his throat, Tim pushed past the image, ciphering through case notes as quickly as he could, memorizing the important bits and discarding the rest. The person had a symbol carved into the palm of their hand, and Tim heard the distant voice of Commissioner Gordon telling someone, “Some cult, maybe?”

He felt what the commissioner had been feeling then—dread. An anxious ball of fear that centered around the Wayne family and the things he knew about them, and how this looked like something that could be right up their alley…

The thoughts brought Tim to a ledge; a burning and broken drop that was unlike anything he’d ever seen. It wasn’t Gordon’s though—no, it was something sinking in all around him, engulfing him, creeping into the commissioner’s thoughts behind him.

Tim realized that he wasn’t in control. He was drowning again, the same way he had been smothered by his own mind when Damian had tried to pull the thing inside of him out.

“Ra’s…” he felt the voice rumble from somewhere in the deepest part of his own mind, filling in the name he couldn’t remember. Then the images came, like chaos, blinding him with color.

They didn’t make sense.

There was a woman, covered in blood. Black hair tangled over her face, nearly hiding her glossy eyes, and making her skin seem paler than it probably was. Still, she was one of the most beautiful women Tim had ever seen, and he knew, just by the look on her face, that she was dying.

“Protect him…”

Tim was looking into her eyes when she died. Panic ripped through him.

Whose thoughts was he seeing? Whose memories? The commissioner’s? The thing—Ra’s’? Was that even possible?

Power thrummed within him.

Just thinking the name sent a jolt of energy through Tim—a dark and curling fervor that left him feeling strangely powerful.

Tim scrambled to get out. He summoned as much strength as he could and ripped himself out of the Commissioner’s mind, blinking wildly when burning colors were replaced by overhead lights, and the room around him became reality once again.

“Are you all right?” Gordon pulled his hand away, and Tim looked around almost wildly for a moment, before he willed his game face to return. He laughed with embarrassment, and tried to cover his tracks.

“Yes. I’m sorry,” Tim shook his head. “I guess I was just thinking that it’s such a coincidence that you’re here.” The words sounded lame to his ears, and his heart was hammering in his chest. “So…why are you here?”

Tim didn’t dare look at anyone in the room but Jim Gordon, who suddenly looked like he’d overstayed his welcome. Shadows fell over his face and he shook his head. “Nothing important.”

Tim heard loyalty there, and respected him for it. He also knew that this was his opportunity to get Bruce out of suspicion’s way, since he knew that they hadn’t been responsible for the death he’d seen.

“The truth is that I was sent here on a case, and they’ve been kind enough to help me with it.” Tim motioned towards Bruce, and finally looked him in the eye. “Some of the evidence I needed washed into their property, and we’ve been working for the last few days to get it together. Or I have, really, but they’ve been overseeing everything. This is Bruce Wayne we’re talking about.”

Tim smiled in a way he knew was charming, and then shrugged. “But work is work. I’m on the Chezlak case, so I’m sure you can imagine how chaotic things have been.”

The commissioner’s eyes went wide. “You’re on the Chezlak case?” He whistled low, and Tim was grateful that this particular case had caught media fire and he was able to talk about it. “I can’t believe the evidence ended up this far into Gotham.”

Tim nodded. “My department is just as surprised. But…and I didn’t mean to overhear, but honestly, they’ve been helping me the past few days, and if you need anything signed to confirm that, I’d be happy to oblige.”

The commissioner met his eyes. “No, no. Though…if I could see your detective license, I’d appreciate it.”

Tim indulged him, content to find his wallet in his jacket pocket. After Gordon saw it, he looked relieved.

“If I do end up needing a signed statement, I’ll just contact your department,” the commissioner said, and Tim nodded. Gordon turned to Bruce and frowned. “I’m sorry for intruding. Thank you for your time.”

Alfred was waiting to show him out, and Tim smiled at him as he left. “I’ll tell Kori you said hello.”

As soon as the door closed behind them, Jason was snatching at the collar of Tim’s shirt, yanking him forward in fury. “What the hell was that?”

Tim could feel his pulse pick up, now that he didn’t have Gordon as an audience. He was grateful when Dick yanked Jason backwards, but was still on edge enough to snap back in response.

“You wanted to know what he was here for, didn’t you?”

Jason shook a reprimanding finger at him. “You can’t go around stealing people’s memories just because you can,” Jason’s teeth almost ground together, and a few loose pieces of hair fell over his eyes. He looked tired. He looked offended.

He looked afraid.

Tim took a deep inhale and let some of his nervous energy leave him as he breathed out, trying to calm down. “I’m choosy about it,” he said calmly. “It’s not like I want to know where everyone’s been.”

He’d meant for the comment to support his case, but what flashed behind Jason’s eyes was a combination of rage and pain. It was such an odd expression on him that Tim felt his eyebrows folding in confusion, but before he could say anything, Dick hauled Jason away, shooting an apologetic glance in Tim’s direction.

Tim’s eyes flickered to Damian, who was staring at him, still in the same position he’d been in the entire time. He looked curious, but kept looking over to Bruce, waiting to see what was to be done.

Tim didn’t really wait for permission, since he could see that Bruce was interested. While he shoved his wallet back into his jacket pocket, he asked, “Do you have a pen and paper?”

No one moved, at first, but Bruce made a motion at Dick and suddenly he was moving towards an old desk in the room, rifling through drawers until he found a notepad and fine-tipped marker.

Tim tossed his coat on the couch and waited a brief moment for Dick to draw something of his own on it, and when Tim’s fingers finally caressed the paper, he saw that it was the luaithrindi knot that Alfred had told him about.

He also realized something else. They hadn’t been drawing it everywhere for his sake. They were doing it to keep him from seeing any of their secrets.

“Fair enough,” Tim said absently, and he started sketching. “They found a body upriver. It, uh…” Tim closed his eyes and tried to focus on what he’d seen—the image burned in the commissioner’s mind was going to haunt him; it had to be one of the most gruesome things he’d ever seen. “It’s kind of like a husk of a person. The autopsy report said—“ Tim strained to find that bit of information and continued. “The body—they think it was a woman—attacked a couple last night, but she’d been dead for at least two days. Not only that, but her organs were missing…” Tim trailed off as he finished his drawing, and handed it to Bruce.

“That was on her palm. It’s also why the commissioner was drawn here, thinking you might have had something to do with it.”

Dick peered over Bruce’s shoulder, and Damian pushed himself up off the couch, wanting to get a peek for himself. When Jason didn’t move, Bruce merely handed the picture to him, only Jason didn’t take it; he just glanced at it briefly.

Tim didn’t expect them to tell him what it meant, even when it was obvious they were exchanging knowing looks. He also didn’t expect Bruce to be so abrupt about the whole ordeal, either, and so he was surprised when his first words to break the silence were, “Jason, go with Tim and allow him to do what he needs to do. I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you that you need to be back as soon as possible.” Then, to Tim, he emphasized, “Two days, tops.”

To Tim, that was pushing it, especially thinking about all of the paperwork he needed to fill out. “I don’t think—“

“Your priority was getting the gun back to your department. After you’ve done so, you’re coming back here. I suggest you tell your boss that you’re taking a leave of absence. Either that, or quit. This just became more complicated.”

Tim tried to look for some hint that there was a joke hidden in Bruce’s words, but he was only met with stern resolve.

Bruce continued. “Whatever world you were a part of—it doesn’t exist after that gun leaves your hands. And I don’t want to fool you into thinking that you’ll ever be able to have it back.”

Where shock and fear should have filled Tim, resentment flooded. “You can’t tell me to quit my job.”

Damian, folding his arms across his chest and looking smug, smirked. “He just did.”

Jason popped Damian on the back of his head with the palm of his hand, earning a sour look that matched his own. “Don’t look so cavalier. It means he’ll be sticking around for a while.”

Dick was the only person who looked even remotely sympathetic. He was shaking his head when Alfred cleared his throat from the doorway, announcing that the car had been pulled around.

Jason shot Tim a dirty look before announcing, “Your ride’s here, your highness.” And he walked out. Tim looked at the three men remaining, and when none of them seemed to have anything left to say, he turned tail to follow Jason.

***

Jason drove a black mustang, which wasn’t very surprising. The back seat had a pair of overnight bags and inside one of them was the gun, and also his cell phone. Tim had irritated the hell out of Jason trying to call Conner for the first thirty minutes of their car ride, finally settling on leaving a message when his friend didn’t answer.

The next few hours consisted of him plowing through the many missed texts and calls he’d gotten, trying to decide which ones were worth responding to. It occurred to him that the majority of communications he’d received were all related to his job; none of them were personal. Except for Conner’s messages, maybe, because the later ones eventually started with the sentiment, “I hope you’re okay…”

Tim put his phone on silent and let his head slip back against the headrest. The highway was wobbly on this side of town, and the sun was creeping across the sky, evening chasing it away. The buildings of Gotham had trickled down to a lonely road surrounded by trees and crumbling sandstone, and it was all Tim could do to stay awake.

Slowly, his head rolled sideways.

Jason’s eyes were glued to the road. They were darker than Tim remembered, and intent. He looked reckless, hands loose on the wheel, attention focused—no room for conversation, no room for friendship. Tim wondered if it was a wall built especially for him, or if it existed for others, too.

“What?” Jason noticed Tim staring, but he kept his eyes trained on the highway.

Tim realized that he didn’t have an answer; that he was just looking and studying because that’s what he was best at.

“Do you hate a lot of people or am I just special?”

The expression on Jason’s face didn’t change.

“You’re definitely not special,” Jason replied blandly. “Unless you mean touched in the head. If that’s the case, then yes, yes you are.”

“Ha, ha,” Tim sank a little lower in his seat and rolled his eyes. Silence stretched between them again, and Tim frowned. “So, is there a word for your psychic phobia?”

“Only if there’s a word to make you be quiet.”

Jason’s point was enunciated by the car hitting a significant bump in the road, and Tim’s hand flew instinctively towards the middle consul to brace himself. This was apparently enough to rip Jason’s attention from the highway and he snapped, “Don’t touch my car.”

Tim stared at him, blinked, and held up his gloved hand. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

In all of Tim’s life, he’d encountered people with various reactions to his abilities. Most were impressed, and a smaller majority terrified. Everyone had secrets—even Tim had his own—and it was a scary thought to think that with one touch, everything you’d worked so hard to hide could be pulled out, unraveled, and revealed. But Tim had never met anyone who was mad at him for it.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re dangerous? “

“Not really. Should they have?” Tim looked bored, and picked at a loose thread in his shirt.

Jason, apparently not in the mod to elaborate, shook his head. “You shouldn’t have done that to the commissioner. He trusts us.”

“You don’t trust him, though.” Tim remembered the look on Jason’s face when the commissioner had been questioning them, hard and disbelieving.

“That doesn’t matter,” Jason replied sharply, “as long as he trusts us.”

“He still trusts you, so I don’t see what the problem is.” Tim rolled his head over to look at Jason once more, feeling the tension between them growing once again.

“The problem is that you can’t go around stealing people’s life stories just because it’s convenient. You’re just one person. It’s too much power.”

Tim thought about this for a minute, and hmm’d. “I get it. You think I’m dangerous because I have an advantage over you.”

“Your so-called advantage is the most hellish mix of psychometry and mind reading that I’ve ever seen, and yes, you’re dangerous because you use it to your advantage. You abuse it, which makes you irresponsible.”

Tim felt like he’d been doused in icy water and immediately sought to defend himself. “I think you missed the part where I save people’s lives.”

Jason looked unimpressed and unconvinced. “You can’t tell me that in all of the time that you’ve known how to use it, that nothing bad has ever come of it. That you’ve always been on the right side of the track. It’s not possible. Abilities like yours –they’re rare, and they always attract bad things, even if you’d like to think that you’re doing the world favors.”

A darkness sank over Tim, leaving him rattled. It was impossible that anyone knew about what he’d done as a child - he’d erased the public records of anything that could be traced back to him. But Jason spoke as if he knew, or maybe he was right, and powers like his—his psychometry, as Jason had named it, always started with bad roots.

Jason soaked up the silence he’d brought on with victory and added, “I’m sure you’ve done your fair share of bad things.”

“Yeah, well,” Tim leaned back into his chair, choosing to stare at the world whirling by beyond the front windshield, “you can’t blame me for trying to make up for it.”

He felt Jason looking at him, trying to read into what he’d just said, probably basking in the glow of being right. But Jason was on edge, too, and Tim guessed that it was because he didn’t know any of the secrets that Tim had worked so hard to keep hidden. Dick had known him for a time, and had probably spilled everything that he knew about Tim’s parents. That wasn’t everything.

The Wayne’s had secrets. Fine. Tim had them, too.

“We’re stopping off tonight,” Jason derailed Tim’s train of thought. “It’s not safe driving this stretch at night.”

Tim couldn’t help the sarcasm that escaped his lips. “What, afraid of the dark?”

Jason didn’t dignify him with a response.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I updated 7 & 8 today! Don't forget to read 7 first!!! Sorry for the confusion. Nine will be up soon too!

Chapter 8:

Night settled thickly over the watered-down town of Bisby, which consisted of two motels, a gas station, and a quiet gift shop that smelled like plywood and dust. There was nothing special about it, except for the fact it was so unbelievably plain.

The motels were old. Paint chipped off the wrap-around porches that held them together, and there were gaps in the floorboards big enough to see between. The rooms were slender, the comforters scratchy. The walls were off-white, and ancient paintings of wildlife dangled above the beds.

Jason claimed the one furthest from the door, muttering something about high beams from truckers blazing through the window. Tim doubted many truckers stopped at the dinky little gas station across the street, but just as he thought it, one pulled in and a stream of light grazed their room.

He blinked and tipped his head towards Jason, who was watching him with an odd expression on his face. For a moment, Tim thought he had something on his own, and he wiped the back of his hand across his mouth.

“What?” he questioned, curious.

Jason frowned before raking a hand through his hair, and shook his head idly. “Nothing.”

Tim watched Jason dig through the duffle bag he’d brought, drawing out a shirt to sleep in. He shrugged off his leather jacket and was about to tug off his t-shirt when he suddenly glanced up, met eyes with Tim, and raised an eyebrow.

“Can I help you?”

Tim blinked, confused for all of one second before he fought off the heat rising to his cheeks. “You look like you’ve been to hell and back.”

Jason followed Tim’s line of sight, pulled his shirt up a bit more than it already was, and revealed a mess of years-old scars. For a moment he looked like he’d forgotten they were there.

“I guess you could say that,” was his casual reply, and when Tim’s fingertips found the lower hem of his own shirt, he hesitated.

“I’m going to go get something to eat,” he said quickly, and Jason gave him a funny look before Tim turned towards the door. “There was a sign that said café up front, and—“

“Hey.” Jason’s tone had Tim stopping midstep, and he turned just in time to catch Jason right behind him, handing over a twenty-dollar bill. Tim jumped.

“I want something greasy,” Jason delegated, and shook the money threateningly. “And don’t you dare think of planning some grandiose escape.”

How anyone could describe an escape from Bisby as grandiose was beyond Tim, but he felt slightly offended, so asked, “And just how far do you think I’d get?”

Jason’s eyes narrowed, and he didn’t even seem to consider calculating an answer. “Not far.”

“Exactly,” Tim snatched the money from Jason’s fingers and smiled charmingly. “So stop worrying so much. Someone just might think that you care.”

Agitated, Jason said, “It’s my responsibility to keep you in my sight.”

Tim, half out of the door, drawled,”—as I leave to get you food.”

The door closed and drowned out whatever retort Jason had, and Tim shook his head, heaving an aggravated sigh. His frustration dispelled as a cool breeze swept up a few fallen leaves, and the smell of lodge pine and dust filled his nose. It was quiet, peaceful, and hundreds of stars glittered against the black of night.

It was too calm for him. He was used to the hustle and bustle of being busy all the time, of working at the department and being swarmed by people and buried under work requests. It was a distraction, really.

Here, he only had his own thoughts, and there were too many of them. Plus, a growing paranoia was sinking its way into his mind, tickling his senses. He’d felt it since they’d been ten miles out of Bisby—the creeping sensation that something was watching him.

More than that—that something was following him.

He could feel it, but he didn’t dare mention it. He didn’t want to know what it meant. That he was going crazy? That he was losing control again?

Tim didn’t want to risk Jason calling their whole trip off over some menial feeling that

Tim could easily manage.

The wind whispered as Tim’s gloved fingers wrapped around the handle to the café’s door, and he froze. Air tasted stale in his mouth and he heard something—it sounded like mumbling; the same gibberish he’d heard on the streets of Gotham before he’d run into Dick and discovered the strange stone in his pocket. He closed his eyes and tried to listen harder, and just when he thought the mumbling was becoming clearer—

A hand closed over his shoulder and he swung around, instinctually attempting to slug whoever had grabbed him. It took a sharp bite of pain to realize that his fist had been caught against Jason’s palm, with what looked like no effort at all.

“Jumpy, much?” It was hard to tell if Jason was making fun of him or looking deeper into the reaction. Tim yanked his hand back.

“Why are you following me?” he snapped.

Jason shook out his hand and looked unaffected by Tim’s mood. “Because I decided that I want French fries. Lots of French fries. And I figured you weren’t psychic enough to sense my craving.”

The door to the café swung open and Tim backed out of the way, absently taking it from an old man that tottered out, brown paper bag in his hand.

“Why, thank you,” Jason said with an irritating sweetness, and swept into the place like Tim was holding the door open just for him.

After taking a couple of deep breaths, Tim listened for the mumbling and looked out towards the dense woodlands that surrounded them, the feeling of paranoia slowly dissipating.

“Oi.”

Something bounced off the back of Tim’s head, and he ran his hand through his hair as he turned around. Jason was staring at him from the ordering counter, and at Tim’s feet was a crumpled straw wrapper.

Tim glared long and hard before making his way up to the counter and reading the menu.

Now that he was here, he didn’t even feel that hungry.

How long had it been since he’d last eaten? He couldn’t even remember. Three days? Four? And he wasn’t sick, or nauseated, or anything?

“Give me my money.” Jason elbowed Tim as he finished his own order, and the clerk held his hand out to accept the cash Tim had wadded in his hand. He placed his own order after, for water and a sandwich, and paid with cash he had in his wallet.

The man at the counter disappeared to prepare their food and Tim caught Jason watching him again.

“What?” This time, he couldn’t hide the irritation.

“Are you okay?”

Shaking his head, Tim whirled away from the counter. “I’m fine.”

“You’re doing an awful lot of staring out into space.”

Tim tossed a look over his shoulder. “It’s called thinking. You should try it.”

Jason snorted. “Seems like it’s taking you a lot of effort.”

A bell went off somewhere in the kitchen hidden behind the counter, and the smell of oil and burger wafted into the air. Tim frowned.

“I haven’t eaten anything in four days.”

If this shocked Jason, he didn’t let it show. Instead, he said, “Ah, the ‘no food’ diet. It looks great on you.”

Rolling his eyes, Tim crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m not joking. I’m not even hungry. And I don’t feel tired. I feel…”

How to describe it?

“Wound up,” Tim finished.

Jason didn’t really look surprised. “You’re running off something else’s batteries. Of course you’re not feeling it.”

There was a shuffling behind the counter, and the clerk set a couple of Styrofoam boxes down. He looked exhausted. He barely smiled when Tim thanked him, and then Tim and Jason were headed back towards their room.

“I’m not really sure how this works, so any tips would be great,” Tim finally said as he locked the door behind them.

Jason made headway towards the one comfortable chair in the room, plopped his food onto the table in front of it, and looked thoughtful. “I find it’s better to not sleep under the sheets in places like this, you know, not knowing who’s been here before, or what the staff considers decent sanitation—“

“Can you please stop being a dick for one moment and have one serious conversation?”

To this, Jason soured. “How am I supposed to know? All the possessed people I’ve met are dead.”

“You have theories, obviously.” Tim kicked off his shoes and crawled onto his bed, bringing his food along with him. He unwrapped it and eyed it warily, wondering how food could be so unappealing.

Jason sank back into his chair and propped his feet up on the table. He chewed a bite of burger and shrugged. “You’ve got a demon in you. It’s got energy. You’re burning its energy since it’s probably already burned through yours. So what, you just don’t feel hungry?”

Tim swallowed a bite of his sandwich like it was a lump of sawdust in his throat. “No. It doesn’t taste good, either.”

Jason looked horrified.

“Does this mean I don’t need to eat anymore?”

Jason’s look of shock transformed into something much less passionate. “Of course you still need to eat. You’re still a…” Jason waved at him.

“…what, human?”

Jason spoke with his mouth full. “A human body, at least.”

Tim stared at his sandwich and ate the rest quickly, and drank his water afterwards. He didn’t feel any different. He threw away his trash and decided to go through his backpack, and see what all had been packed or salvaged aside from what he’d used so far.

Jason’s attention lingered on him as he chewed on a French fry. “So why’d you freak out?”

Tim was rummaging through his bag and looked up, confused. “What?”

“Earlier, when you were in Gordon’s head. Seems like you’d be used to seeing weird things.” Jason slumped onto his bed, crashing against the pillows with enough force that the bed wobbled. A few stray fries toppled into his lap, and he ate them.

Tim paused, and he felt his guard go up. “I didn’t freak out.”

“You did,” Jason swallowed. “I saw it.”

Digging through his bag for something worth sleeping in, it was easy to ignore Jason. It was more difficult when a curly fry bounced off his head, followed by another that slapped him in the cheek.

“Really? You’re throwing food at me?”

“Well, I was attempting to make conversation, but you were being rude.” Jason nodded knowingly and licked his greasy fingers.

After throwing away the remnants of Jason’s ammunition, Tim huffed and yanked a clean shirt from his bag—something that wasn’t his but that had been packed for him. He didn’t like the idea that someone else had been through his things at the manor, but figured he had more important things to worry about.

“You wouldn’t understand,” Tim tossed his bag onto the floor, gave Jason a significant look, and ducked into the bathroom. He washed his face, brushed his teeth with his finger and a gob of travel size toothpaste, and emerged in the new t-shirt and his boxer shorts.

He didn’t feel like sleeping, but he figured he’d try.

“You know,” Jason flicked a French fry crumb towards him, and Tim managed to avoid it. “You’re not the only one who’s had a rough life and seen things that normal people shouldn’t.”

Tim looked at Jason; really looked at him, and Jason shifted under the gaze. “I know that,” he replied. “And if you’re trying to imply that we’re similar, then you should know why I don’t trust you.”

Holding eyes for a moment longer, Tim left his impression and wandered over to his bed, where he slid onto the coverlet, hot even though the room was chilly.

“We’re nothing alike,” Jason said to Tim’s back. “You’re spoiled. And don’t get the wrong idea about this trip. I’m not trying to be your friend, or your spiritual advisor. I’m more like your handler.”

“Handle away,” Tim offered as he stretched. “This dangerous and elusive creature is going to bed.”

Jason huffed from across the room, and Tim hugged a pillow to his chest. He watched the digital clock at his bedside breeze through the minutes and eventually forced himself to sleep.

***

“Turn in here.” Tim pointed to a turn-off hidden behind a massive tree and a row of neatly trimmed hedges. Jason obeyed and Tim felt relieved to be somewhere familiar.

The building for the investigations department was sprawled across a tidy black parking lot, which was nearly full. It was tall and Roman-themed, which gave it an extra air of justice instead of the eerie postmodern look that most modern day science facilities had going on.

Jason looked at the building like it was the enemy.

“Unpaid parking tickets or something?” Tim joked, but Jason simply stared at him, not appreciating the humor.

“Just hurry.”

“What, you’re not going to follow me in? Keep me in sight?” Tim was starting to enjoy the dark look that Jason favored when he was doing everything in his power not to snap. He tugged out his cell phone.

“What’s your phone number?”

Tim was already halfway out the door when Jason asked, so he glanced back warily.

“Why?”

“Because we’re BFF’s,” Jason sing-songed, and Tim shook his head before he plucked Jason’s phone from his hands and put in his information.

After he shoved it back into Jason’s hand, he seized his backpack from the backseat and gave Jason a daring look. “Don’t call me while I’m inside. I won’t pick up.”

Jason shooed him out. “Just be quick. And don’t forget to quit.”

Tim slammed the door on him and made his way inside, smiling at the receptionist like he always did. He made his way upstairs, talking briefly with a couple of detectives in the department he’d never been paired with, and went straight for Detective Ander’s office when he reached the second floor.

She smiled at him brightly, as always, but her enthusiasm died when he closed the door behind him.

“Well, that can’t be a good sign,” she crossed her arms over her chest. “Conner’s been scared to death. I’m glad you’re alive and everything, but what the hell happened? You fall off the globe or something?”

Tim pulled out the gun and set it on her desk, and watched relief flood through her. When she glanced back to him again, her features were worried. “What happened?”

Tim shrugged and tried to find the words. He liked Kori. She was great. She was one of the few people in the world who saw him before his abilities, and she’d always been like a mother hen, ever since he’d first been hired. Of course, she and Conner were only two of the very few people who knew what he could do, but he appreciated everything she’d done for him.

“Getting the gun here was just…” he circled his hand in the air and finished with, “…complicated.”

Kori tilted her head to the side, and russet-colored curls bobbed from the movement. “And?”

“I’d like to resign from my position.” Tim said it, and the words tasted like tar in his mouth. Especially when Kori suddenly looked like she was on high alert, and wandered over to the windows of her office to close the blinds.

“What happened?” She asked again, worried.

Holding up his hands, Tim pulled his most convincing face. “Nothing.”

“You know that you can’t lie to me, right? You do your thing with clients, and that’s fine, but I know you. I play the same game. We’re both detectives. And damn good ones.”

Tim knew that they were the best. “Okay. Nothing I can’t handle, then,” he tried. He hated the way Kori was looking at him, and that he couldn’t tell her anything. Hell, he wasn’t sure if he really believed it yet.

“Well, you’re on call, so it's not like you were ever technically _hired_...but still, I'm not letting you just _quit_. How about you just take an extended leave of absence?” Kori forced it on him.

“I don’t know, I—“

“How much time do you need? Are you going somewhere?”

Tim paced a little. “Maybe a few months? Hopefully only a few months…”

“And it’s nothing I can help with?”

A bubble of laughter escaped Tim before he could stop it and he shook his head. “No, no, no.”

Kori nodded and sank back against her desk. “Well, if you do need anything…”

“I know,” Tim smiled at her genuinely. “Is Con around? I haven’t been able to get ahold of him.”

“At court. He’s been trying to buy time.” She pushed her self forward and gave the gun another look. “Is this really the one?”

Tim remembered what he saw through it and nodded. “Yeah. Make sure he gets it?”

Kori rolled her eyes and shoved a few rebellious curls behind her ears. “Duh. And you, please keep me up to date?”

Tim nodded, but it wasn’t very confident. “Kori…I may not come back.”

Kori glared at him. “You better. Or I’ll find you. Damn good detective, remember?”

Tim cracked a smile, despite. “Right.”

There was a knock on the door, and Tim left when another detective needed Kori for something more important. He didn’t look back, but he could feel her eyes on him until he left her sight.

The sun was bright and the tar in the parking lot was bubbling. When Tim slid back into the car, Jason peered over to him from a magazine he’d unearthed from somewhere.

“Did you quit?”

Tim shook his head.

Jason started the ignition and asked how to get to Tim’s apartment.

***

“How…minimal.”

Tim tossed his bag on the couch and decided not to be offended. After all, living at some place like Wayne Manor probably made his apartment look like an empty shack.

“And I’m not just saying that because everything is so neatly organized, which is…do you have OCD?” Jason had dropped most of his things by the door and was examining a bookshelf that was arranged alphabetically.

Tim wandered into his kitchen and pulled open the refrigerator to get a bottle of water. He wasn’t thirsty, but he’d decided to make a habit of keeping up with what he thought his body needed. “I find that organizing things makes them easier to locate.”

“Ugh. I’d hate to see your brain.” Jason pulled out a book on anatomy, frowned at it, and slid it back into its place.

Tim watched Jason as he swallowed down some water. When he pulled the bottle from his lips, he said, “I’ve been told it’s pretty amazing, actually.”

“And modesty is obviously your best trait,” Jason shot back, making his way through Tim’s house like he was committing everything to memory. “What the hell is this?” He poked at a corkboard on the other side of the room, and pressed his fingers to buttons pressed into it.

“They’re pins,” Tim stated the obvious before he finished his water.

From across the room, Jason started reading what was written on them, but mostly he was mumbling to himself. “What are these? Places? Places you want to go?”

Tim threw his bottle away and it made a loud sound as it smacked against his empty wastebasket. “Places I’ll never go back to.”

Stepping back from the board, Jason whistled. “That’s a lot of cities you’re trying to avoid.”

More like places I’m trying to forget, Tim thought.

Silence settled between them, and Jason made himself at home on Tim’s couch.

“I’d get to packing, if I were you. I want to be leaving first thing in the morning, and make a straight shot back to Gotham.”

“I’m sure you do,” Tim muttered, and he disappeared into his bedroom. He opened his closet and sank down to his knees, trying not to think about too many things at once. About needing to talk to the front office, and pay a few months ahead in order to keep the place, or about what he’d even need to bring.

Clothes, of course. But everything else…

He didn’t have a lot. He had the money for a lot; hell, if he wanted, he could buy a house, picket fence and all. But there was always this feeling—he’d had it since he was a kid. The feeling he’d always be moving. That he wouldn’t be able to stay in one place for too long. And because of that, he never indulged.

And now, even though he’d found a great job and friends, it was happening again. He was being uprooted because of his abilities. Nothing in his house mattered when he looked at it that way. It was all just junk that kept him warm at night; that created a false sense of security.

In the end, it was just him. He was alone, and his friends weren’t really friends, just people he’d been looking to feel connected to, since he’d never really had that like other kids. At least, it made him feel better to think that way.

A knock on his front door tore him from his thoughts and he jumped to his feet. Jason was eyeing the door suspiciously, hand clutched around the remote to Tim’s television.

Tim ignored him and pulled the door open.

“Oh, hey—“

“Don’t you ‘oh hey’ me,” Conner Kent was a good head taller than Tim, and had the jaw-dropping physique of the men featured in GQ magazine. He’d played football in high school and done the training camps in college, and it looked good on him. It would have made him intimidating, if he wasn’t one of the most honest people Tim had ever met.

And if Conner wasn’t the closest thing to a best friend that he had.

“What the hell, man? I get scared shitless waiting for you to call me from Gotham, don’t hear a thing for days, only to show up and have Kori tell me you’re taking a leave?”

Conner slammed the door closed behind him and his cobalt eyes were ablaze with more than anger—there was hurt in there, too. And worry. And Tim couldn’t explain it away.

“And who the hell is that?” Conner pointed past Tim, towards the couch, where Jason rose like the living dead from the position he’d been laying down.

“Great friends you’ve got going on here,” Jason complimented. He made a hand gesture that made it look like he was reviewing fine dining. “Most superb manners, I’ve got to say.”

His attitude caught Conner off guard, and Tim could see his mind jumping through hoops trying to make some sort of connection as to who he could be, and how he and Tim knew each other. His eyes narrowed, dark lashes framing a very skeptical glare.

“This someone I need to be worried about?” It was a statement, and Con seemed to drift closer to Tim as he said it, like a human shield.

Jason seemed to find it amusing.

Tim shook his head almost violently. “No. It’s…um, it’s really complicated. And uh…” He looked back over to Jason, who was all ears.

Tim sighed. “Do you want anything to drink?”

Conner stared at him. “Not really. What I’d really like is to know what’s going on.” He leaned in, eyes darting between Tim and Jason, and his voice lowered conspiratorially.

“Is he forcing you into this? Who is he?”

“Yup, I’m still in the room,” Jason dragged himself off the couch and waved. “And I can still hear you. My name is Jason, by the way.”

Tim stared Jason down as he walked into the kitchen, grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator, and made his way over to them. He didn’t do anything polite, like hold out his hand. He did drop the cap to his water on the floor though, and Conner and Tim both bent to pick it up, only Conner yanked his hand away before Tim accidently touched it.

Tim frowned and gave Con a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry. I forgot that I took my gloves off.” He shook his head as he stood up, feeling the tension in the room like there was a storm swallowing him.

He jumped when Jason reached towards him, tucking the tag of his shirt in, his fingertips grazing Tim’s skin in a way that sent a jolt of something down his spine.

Conner’s expression fell, and Tim saw it.

Jason did too, and seemed pleased by it. “Such trust you two have.”

“Jason. Go away.”

Tim was all fury and it caught Jason off guard. So much that he glanced between him and Conner, and raised an eyebrow. Outnumbered, he backed away until he was in Tim’s bedroom, and closed the door behind him.

“Tim.”

Tim pushed himself away from the kitchen and walked a few steps before turning around and throwing his hands in the air. “I can’t tell you what’s going on.”

Straight-faced and serious, Conner simply waited for a better answer.

Tim leaned against the back of his couch. “I can’t tell you. It’s too crazy—even for me. But I’m fine, and hopefully I’ll be back, and—“

“Hopefully?” Conner reiterated, marginally upset. “Tim, you have to realize how this looks to me.”

That comment caught Tim off guard, and he wasn’t sure how to reply. “Actually, I’m not entirely sure how it looks. Suspicious, I guess. You probably think I’m in trouble, but it’s nothing I can’t handle, or that I’m not handling. I just have some things I need to take care of.”

“Tim, he touched you.”

Tim’s hand absently floated to the base of his neck, where he could still feel the phantom brush of fingers. He met eyes with his friend and shook his head. “It’s not what you think.”

“What do I think?” Conner asked, and he whirled around, scratching his head out of frustration. When Tim didn’t answer, he walked over towards him, invading Tim’s space enough that he had to sit up straighter so that they wouldn’t touch. Conner leaned into him, and Tim jumped at the pressure of Con’s fingertips against his shirt, and tried to keep his balance as he shifted back, watching Con’s lips come closer to his own, tasting cinnamon from his friend’s mouth.

“Tim.”

Tim’s heart was pounding in his chest and his eyes flew up, captured and held by Con’s.

“I’ve been pretty obvious, haven’t I? I mean, you have to know how I feel, right?”

Tim swallowed the lump in his throat. Had he known Con felt this way? Had it been obvious? Tim was so bad at these things; he didn’t get it. And now, he felt trapped.

Con leaned in closer, and Tim pushed him back. He couldn’t look him in the eye; he didn’t want to see what he knew Con felt, and he didn’t want to try and understand what that meant because—

“Con, I’m sorry.” He didn’t know what else to say.

Con’s attention drifted to the ceiling, and Tim could only call the emotion that he saw regret. He wanted to say more. He wanted to explain. But he was alone, and he had to remember that.

“Promise you’ll call me.” Con’s fingers slipped into the pockets of his jeans and he waited for Tim to nod.

“I’ll call.”

“I know you,” Con said. “I know that you do this thing where you just…you push people away because you don’t think they’ll get it. You push me away because you don’t think I’ll understand. I get it. I’ve always gotten it. I know that’s why you won’t let me touch you. But you have to know that you can trust me. That I’m here—that I’m always going to be here. You know that, right?”

Tim swallowed and looked up at Conner. “I know. You just can’t help me right now.”

“And he can?” Con motioned towards Tim’s bedroom.

Tim nodded.

Conner was quiet for an uncomfortable amount of time. “And you don’t know when you’ll be back?”

Tim shook his head. “I’ll be gone by morning, though.”

Conner watched him with careful eyes, and Tim felt dimly like something inside of him was breaking. This was the one true friendship he thought he had, and he could see it changing; disappearing.

“Do you want me to leave?”

“Yeah.”

Conner left and Tim buried his face in his hands. He heard movement in his bedroom and wondered what Jason had heard. He wondered if he cared.

“Is it safe to come out?” The familiar squeak to the bedroom door sounded, and Tim straightened himself out. He jumped away from the couch and pulled his shoes on and before Jason could ask, he stated, “I’m going out.”

Jason raised an eyebrow and opened his mouth, but the look Tim sent him was fierce enough for him to bite his tongue.

“I’ll be back later. Don’t follow me.”

And just like that, Tim left.

Jason stood quietly for a moment, as if Tim might come back inside, but it didn’t happen. He decided that he wouldn’t mention what he’d seen between the crack of Tim’s door, and that he hadn’t heard everything.

He certainly wouldn’t admit that he cared, maybe just a little, about what had just happened. After all, psychics tended to bring these things upon themselves.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated 7,8, and 9 today! Don't forget to start from 7, lest you be confused. I'm sorry for the chapter dump but I needed to get archive caught up with Tumblr. 
> 
> Love to you all <3

Tim walked aimlessly, even if he knew the path well. He was out long enough for the sun to drift into shadow, and he saw the same stores and houses that he’d seen before, every other time he’d ducked out of his apartment and wandered.

Only this time, the feeling in the pit of his stomach seemed stuck there, unwilling to dislodge itself and let Tim move on.

He wasn’t even sure what he was upset about.

Was it that Con was upset? Maybe the situation in general? Or maybe it was the fact that Conner had spooked him, and he hadn’t known how to react, and now he needed to run away? To escape?

When Tim’s cell phone went off from inside his back pocket, he ignored it. He shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, wondering how out-of-sorts he had to have been to leave without his gloves. His skin prickled when the breeze sweeping past him turned cold, and was vaguely aware that the whispering was starting up again.

“Shut up,” he said to no one in particular, though a man leaving a liquor store heard him talking to himself and gave him a strange look.

Tim muffled his ears with his hands and sank into an alleyway, pressing himself against a brick wall. It didn’t help, because the voice seemed to be inside of him. It was a low murmur that he couldn’t understand. It was restless. It was anxious.

The world seemed to slow, and when Tim blinked, he saw red. His stomach churned, and the paranoia hit him so suddenly that he nearly doubled over.

His head whipped to the left and snapped to the right. He crept out of the alleyway and looked everywhere—scanned the streets for someone who looked suspicious, or something that looked out of place. The hair on his neck tickled under the feeling of being watched, and Tim swung around, faced with a crowd of young people making their way to one of the local bars.

Slinking out of their way, Tim sucked in a few breaths and tried to convince himself he was imagining it. It was just a trick, just something to lure him closer to losing his mind.

The low hum of a voice in his head wasn’t having that, apparently, because it grew louder. Tim fought back the desire to run, even when adrenaline began thudding through him. The resistance didn’t last long.

He bolted as quickly as he could, feeling the same overwhelming rush that he sometimes did after the more violent cases, the ones where he saw too much and couldn’t escape the emotional residue. He ducked into the first bar he came across, scrambled to pull his wallet from the pocket of his pants, and slammed his ID onto the countertop.

Dark lights blanketed him. Neon lights danced on the walls from a small dance floor that was netted with bodies writhing together. The place smelled of sweat and salt, and bass thrummed through the floorboards, matching the steady pulse of music that drowned out sound.

By the time the bartender slid him a shot, Tim could feel his hackles raising. The voice was still there, almost as loud as the music. Much more deafening than the bass, but not comprehensible. Everyone’s eyes were on him.

They were all staring, weren’t they? They could see him. They could see that he was panicking. They thought he was crazy.

He never looked to see if anyone was watching him, he just downed the drink, the sting of the alcohol doing its part to drown out the hectic flashes of memory it had. He slid the glass back to the bartender. He signaled for more. The man behind the counter obliged.

When Tim set down his third glass, the room began to spin. He expected to feel loose—free. But the feeling of paranoia was still stuck to him, and the alcohol wasn’t doing anything to drown it out.

Hide, hide, hide, hide…

Tim pulled his hands over his ears again and clenched his eyes closed.

The voice was clearer. It was louder. More distinct.

Hide, hide, hide, hide…

Tim settled his tab and slipped out of his chair, wobbly on his feet as he circled the dance floor, making his way to the darkened back hallways that led to the bar’s restrooms. He crept past the men’s room, and then the women’s, and slid to the floor in the very back, just outside of a wide storage closet.

Hide, hide, hide, hide…

“Hide from what?!” Tim clawed his fingers through his hair and wriggled his cell phone from his pocket, trying to focus long enough to decide who he was going to call.

He had a text from Jason, telling him to save the number.

Tim punched the message twice with his thumb and swayed where he sat, lucky he couldn’t see double of everything in the dark.

When Jason picked up, Tim breathed heavily.

“There’s something after me.

***

Jason wasn’t stupid. In fact, he was far from it, despite his upbringing. So why he was storming down some no-name street in some big name city looking for someone who was obviously drunk was completely beyond him.

“I will not be holding anyone’s hair back tonight,” he growled, remembering the way that Tim’s words had slurred together over the phone.

“I tried to make it stop but it’s still here and now the voice wants me to hide…”

Jason made a vow that Detective Timothy Drake was never to see alcohol again. He also realized that he was hurried—which meant that he was worried. That realization didn’t sit well with him.

And where the hell was he? All that Jason had managed to get out of Tim was that he was at “the pub” and “in the back”. All he could keep thinking was that soon, Tim would be at his apartment and in a whole helluva lot of trouble.

The wind whistled and picked up a few leaves, and Jason glanced around idly, not breaking his stride. There was a smell in the air that tickled his nose, and not in a pleasant way. Even though there was an obvious breeze, the air was musty and tasted strange in his mouth.

Not too unusual for cities, though. There were always things decaying in alleys and rotting in the sewers. All it took was a good stroke of weather to whiff the smell up, and it seemed to settle everywhere: a blanket of breathable filth.

Jason decided to be on guard anyway, especially when he happened upon a corner bar that was named ‘Ye Olde Pub”. He snorted and ducked inside, overwhelmed by the loud music and flashing lights that meant the pub wasn’t as ‘olde’ as it thought.

The place was packed. The bar was to the right and there was a dance floor off towards the left, and Jason could barely make out a hallway in back. He didn’t see Tim anywhere, and wondered if that’s what he’d meant by ‘in the back’.

Jason hoped the idiot was here, and speculated how, with his apparent intelligence, getting trashed after some tragic romantic encounter constituted a good idea. It was hard for him to be too cynical, however. Not surprisingly, Tim didn’t seem to have many friends. And as for the ones he did have…he refused to touch them?

Dick had mentioned something about that, too. Something about how Tim had never tried to see into him; to see where he’d come from. Jason was still confused as to how the two had come together all those years ago, but it was hard for him to believe that Tim had that much self-restraint.

After all, he used his abilities to make a living.

The hallway grew darker the further he drifted in, and he followed it down with a hand on the wall. He didn’t see anything, so he asked, “Tim?”

No answer.

He took a few steps further. “Seriously, if you’re not here and I have to go looking for another pub, I’m going to kill you. I don’t even care what the consequences will be at this point.”

There was still no answer so he pulled his phone from his jacket pocket and called Tim. He listened as the other end of the line rang, then lifted his head from the device when he heard a ringtone further down the hall. He paced forward, lips drawn tightly together when he saw something glowing on the ground.

It was Tim’s phone.

“Jesus Christ.” Jason turned the corner in the very back of the hallway, which was drenched in black. Tim was there, against the wall, head drooped forward over his chest as though he’d fallen asleep.

Jason leaned down in front of him and tipped Tim’s chin upward, watching as the younger man’s hair fell away from his face, and Tim’s eyes blinked open sluggishly.

“Jason.” Tim almost looked relieved, and Jason realized, belatedly, just how hot Tim’s skin was against his finger. He closed the distance between them and pressed his forehead to Tim’s, hissing when skin burned against skin. He pulled back, but Tim’s bare fingers grabbed his wrist, and his eyes darted around.

“It’s been following us since we left. I don’t know what, but it’s here and I can feel it everywhere—“ Tim cut himself off, looking up as if he’d heard something. Even though Jason could smell the alcohol on Tim, he knew that it wasn’t the reason he was acting this way.

He’d seen this before. The paranoia and anxiety. It was all part of the possession process. It was just taking longer, in Tim’s case.

“You don’t believe me,” Tim sensed it, it seemed. He only looked half-aware, briefly, before his eyes seemed to lose their haze. When they did, a hardness settled into Tim’s expression.

Tim didn’t look crazy.

“He’s saying that you don’t. But it’s coming.”

Jason studied Tim for a brief moment. “What’s coming?”

Tim looked the same way he had when he’d been taken over with the commissioner’s thoughts; glazy-eyed and seeing something no one else could. It was an expression that haunted Jason, because he couldn’t see what was going on behind Tim’s eyes.

“A shadow…” he whispered, trying to describe what he felt, or what he was seeing.

Jason released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, and scooped Tim’s phone off the floor. “Come on. We’re going back to your apartment.”

The grip on his wrist tightened, and he grit his teeth. Tim was staring up at him, serious. “I’m not drunk.”

“Right.” Jason stood up, pulling Tim along with him since he refused to let go. A cold feeling doused him from the inside, remembering what Tim had said at the hotel just a few days previous.

“I only see white.”

Jason brushed aside the thought, dragging Tim out of the bar and onto the street, and they made a brisk walk back to the apartment. The night seemed to have gotten colder, and Jason could still taste something weird in his mouth. Tim was clutching him so tightly that his knuckles were white, and Jason didn’t bother making an effort to free himself.

“You don’t feel it?” Tim asked, and Jason realized, after a moment, that the question was directed at him.

“I don’t feel anything,” Jason stated, trying not to sound annoyed when his best guess was that Tim was having a breakdown, just like he had at the hotel. He simply hoped to get him into a confined space before anything dangerous happened, and to call Bruce since Tim was apparently a ticking time bomb.

Tim didn’t say anything else. He was wearing the expression of someone who thought they were losing their mind, which also left Jason feeling unsettled.

Crazy people didn’t know they were crazy.

“And we’re back,” Jason announced with little to no vigor, and he hauled Tim up, only for Tim to tug him backwards.

“I know…” he started, and then tried again. “I know you don’t get it, but I have a really bad feeling.”

Jason rolled his eyes and pulled Tim up the stairs, but froze when the door to the apartment bobbed open on its own. He glanced back at Tim, who was gazing into the darkness of his apartment as though something were there, and he knew it.

Jason felt it now, the presence of something else. The air was thick and wet around him and he clenched his teeth.

He pulled a gun from the waistband of his pants, and shook Tim’s hand free. He could feel Tim’s gaze on him, and expected some snide comment about whether or not he had a permit.

It didn’t come. Which meant that Detective Timothy Drake, with all of his righteousness, thought that having a gun drawn was a good idea.

The hinges of the door wailed when Jason kicked it open, and Tim followed him inside. Hesitantly, he hit the light switch.

Jason barely had the chance to shove Tim to the side before the thing came at them; something possessed and gnarled to the point that it barely looked human. Skin stretched to cover its bones and in some places, bones poked through the waxy surface. It screeched so loudly that it bared its teeth, gums drawn back so far that bone dug through.

A shot rang out as Jason was tackled to the floor, nauseated when the smell of decay reeked from the body’s mouth, seeping out like a venomous fog. They fought there, the thing unreasonably strong, and Jason grappled with it, groaning when it grabbed his throat and pressure descended on his windpipe.

“Like hell you’re…going to kill me—“ he felt around with his free hand for his gun, gasping for breath beneath the thing, his vision blurring as he struggled to breathe.

“It’s not you that I want,” the thing wheezed, barely audible, and Jason panicked when he realized that Tim was the one that had known it was there, had figured out that they were being followed. Most likely, Tim was its target…did Tim know that?

Jason struggled harder against the dead weight above him, choking down coughs, and—

Suddenly, a second shot fired, and Jason winced when the creature half-exploded above him, sending a spray of blackened blood onto his chest and chin. He glanced over just in time to see Tim lower the gun, and Jason’s blood ran cold when he realized that Tim was holding it between his bare hands.

“Tim—“

But Tim was already dropping down to his knees and throwing up, and Jason shoved the body off of him and crawled over, yanking the gun from Tim’s hands while silently cursing to himself. Not only did the gun have a history that Jason wouldn’t even want to know, it was one of Bruce’s own little masterpieces, made from metal cooled in holy water and loaded with bullets given the same treatment.

And Tim…well, Tim wasn’t really all human, at the moment.

“Fuck,” Jason grabbed Tim’s hands and was relieved to see that they weren’t as burned as he would have expected them to be. He met eyes with Tim’s, whose were red with tears.

“That luaithindri knot,” he huffed, and he pulled his hand away from Jason’s to wipe his mouth hastily. “Draw it on everything.”

Jason smirked. He couldn’t help it. He rolled over and sat next to Tim, and together, they stared at the body sprawled on the floor not a few feet from them.

“You knew it was here.”

“I thought I was going crazy.” Tim tipped his head back and swallowed between deep breaths. “But at the bar, he just kept telling me to hide.”

Jason’s breath caught in his throat. “Who?”

“Ra’s.” Tim said it so casually that it sent a shiver down Jason’s spine. “I think that he’s been trying to talk with me for a while. I could only make sense of it after a couple of drinks.” Tim laughed a little, but there was a tinge of fear laced with the humor.

Jason looked down at his shirt, disgusted with it, and shook his head. “You should have told me.”

Silence settled between them, and Jason could feel it, somehow—Tim’s walls going back up. Of course Tim wouldn’t have told him. They weren’t friends. They didn’t trust each other.

The realization dawned on Jason that Tim had saved his life. Looking at him, emotionless exterior, and cold, analytical eyes…Jason wouldn’t have expected it. But he remembered the look on Tim’s face just after he’d fired; he’d seen himself in Tim’s eyes—there hadn’t been any fear. No second thoughts.

“I’ve got to call Bruce and have this—“ Jason swished his hand in the air aimlessly, “—mess cleaned up.”

Tim looked down at his hands and flexed his fingers. “Do you want me to see where it’s from?”

Jason gave his best deadpan glare and pushed himself to his feet. “No. You don’t need to see that. And if you want to know, use your detective skills. Stop torturing yourself because you think the world needs answers.”

He saw something flicker in Tim’s eyes. Jason’s attention only lingered a moment longer before he was digging through his pocket for his phone. He ignored the stench of decay that was already flooding the apartment, and avoided looking at the body—at least until Tim spoke.

“It looks like the body in Gordon’s case.”

Jason glanced down at it now, and remembered how Tim had described what he’d seen. He thought about the information he was willing to divulge, and decided that Tim deserved to know.

“You know what it was, right?”

“A possession, obviously.” Tim was staring at the body numbly. “You should check its hand. See if it has the same mark on it.”

Jason was surprised that Tim remembered, and mentally smacked himself. Even if Tim was psychic, he was a detective, too.

Jason backtracked, holding his breath while he poked at the body’s hand until he had a good view of its palm. Sure enough, the marking was there. He’d have to tell Bruce about that, too.

Standing up, he sucked in a breath that didn’t smell as bad as it would have next to the corpse. He tipped his head back, feeling a bit relieved that Tim was taking this so well.

Actually, it unnerved him how well Tim took things.

“You should put some aloe on that,” Jason motioned to Tim’s hands and let Tim’s annoyed glare slide. The detective followed his advice and disappeared into the bathroom, and when the door closed behind him, Jason called home.

After a few rings, Dick picked up.

“Give the phone to Bruce,” Jason demanded, and then added, “Yes, Tim is fine.”

He waited for Bruce to jump on the line and explained as much as he could—everything that he knew. He waited for Bruce’s advice, dreading what was coming.

“I thought you’d want to take him there,” he breathed dispassionately, and he stalked Tim’s living room, carefully stepping over spatters of blood that had seeped into the carpet. The last thing he wanted to do was leave a trail of footprints around. “Yeah, I know. And you know how much I hate that place.”

Jason paused when he heard the door to the bathroom open. “I got it. You’ll meet me there? Great. We’ll leave tonight.”

Tim stared at him from across the room. “Where are we going?”

Jason ended the call and tried to look casual about it. “To get you professional help. And maybe some answers.”

Tim didn’t move. “And what does that mean, exactly?”

“It means you’re getting to meet the Oracle, so pack up.” Jason snatched up Tim’s backpack and tossed it towards him, and Tim grimaced when he caught it. “We need to leave yesterday, so get your things together. Bruce will have this taken care of.”

Jason motioned towards the living room, and Tim stared at the body, his eyes and lips sunken.

“Is that going to happen to me?”

Jason couldn’t tell him one way or the other.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens...!

Tim drummed his fingers on his jeans, waiting for Jason to come back to the car. They’d stopped for gas, and Jason had raided the attached convenience store, chucking packaged cheese danishes at Tim through his opened window.  
  
“Eat. And none of that ‘I’m not hungry’ or ‘it doesn’t taste good’ crap.”  
  
After organizing them in his lap, Tim merely frowned. “I wouldn’t have considered this food on a normal day.”  
  
“There is something inherently wrong with you.” Jason had left his door to put the pump away, and when he climbed back into the car, he seized a pastry for himself and devoured it. He threw the wrapper into Tim’s lap, and for the umpteenth time in days, Tim rolled his eyes before saying, “And stop being nice to me. It’s weird.”  
  
Tim made a conscious effort to stare out of his window, avoiding eye contact. From beside him, Jason snorted.  
  
“Is this how nice people treat you?” He leaned over, grabbed the wrapper from Tim’s lap, and chucked it at him again. “Because I’ve been told that I’m not very nice.”  
  
After fumbling to catch the wrapper, Tim drew his hand back to toss it at Jason, and then let his hand drop. “Yeah, I can see that. After all, you’ve made it very clear that I’m dangerous and better off dead. So stop feeding me—“ he waved a Danish around with annoyance, “—and maybe you’ll get your wish.”  
  
Tim hated to sound so on edge, but the truth was simply that he was. Hearing Ra’s talking to him—seeing that thing—a real person possessed, and being forced to shoot it—Tim wouldn’t ever admit it, but he’d never used his gun before. Not on something living, at least. But he had, last night, and his hands ached as proof.  
  
“If you had been dead, I would have been too,” Jason stated solemnly. “You killed that thing. It was trying to kill me.”  
  
Tim tilted his head sideways, giving Jason a long look. “It was after me.”  
  
As Jason pulled back onto a main road and made his way towards the highway, he shrugged. “Yeah, and I was in its way.”  
  
“Why was it after me?” Tim asked. He’s been wrestling with the question for a while, hoping that Jason would say something without him having to ask. “The mark on its palm, what does it mean?”  
  
This time, Jason shook his head. “No can do, señor psychometrist. These are questions Bruce will have to answer.”  
  
“Why does Bruce decide everything?” Tim shot back, feeling his frustration rising. He didn’t want to admit that it was because he was scared. That thing that he’d shot…it had been real.  
  
“Because he’s—“  
  
“He tells Dick to leave and go back to Gotham, he tells me to quit my job—you won’t tell me anything unless he gives you permission—what, is he your cult leader, or something?”  
  
Jason stared long and hard at the road in front of him, and any playfulness he had died away. “We’re not a cult.”  
  
“You hunt demons and know sigils that take away my abilities,” Tim pointed out. “Who knows what else. It’s pretty obvious that I’m involved, isn’t it? So why can’t you tell me anything?”  
  
Silence stretched between them, and Tim sank into his seat. He stared out of his window, disappointed that the sky was hazed by clouds that blocked the stars.  
  
“We’re called Chival.” The comment was so delayed that it took Tim a moment to realize it was in regards to what he’d said.  
  
“We as in…all of you? Bruce? Dick? Damian…?”  
  
“Not Damian. But the rest of us, yes. It’s an Order. One small niche in a network of other people like us, who work to make sure demons like Ra’s don’t get out.”  
  
Tim thought about it for a moment, and nodded. He had a thousand questions, really, but figured that was good enough, for now. “Why do you hate psychics?”  
  
Jason groaned and met eyes with Tim, just briefly. “I just do, all right? You make bad decisions. You think you’re doing it for the good of all that’s rainbows and butterflies, but you’re not. You’ve got too much power. I don’t even like the Oracle, and she’s at Bruce’s every beck and call.”  
  
A feeling like ice washed through Tim. “Why are you taking me to a psychic? What is she going to do?”  
  
A memory unburied itself from the back of his mind, and he watched Jason’s lips move as he said, “I don’t know. Go into your head a bit. Talk to Ra’s without risking you imploding, like the last time.”  
  
What had happened at the hotel always weighed heavily on Tim’s mind.  
  
“Jason, you can’t take me to see a psychic. You can’t let anyone in my head.”  
  
His tone was tinged with panic, enough so that Jason eyed him, almost smirking. “What, you can see everyone else’s secrets but they can’t see yours?”  
  
Expression falling, Tim sat up straighter, trying to emphasize how serious he was. “I’m not joking. It’s a bad idea. My thoughts, they’re…too vivid.”  
  
Jason threw him a couple of glances and Tim balled his fists, hating when he had to relive the past. “I was on a case once. It was when I first became a detective. This little girl had been killed, and there hadn’t been any evidence as to who’d done it, and her father—God, he was such a good and honest man, he was just…broken. But of course I knew who’d done it. I saw it. I felt it. And I thought…”  
  
Tim drifted off and his mind fell to shadow, and coldness hugged at his heart. Jason looked at him, distracted by the pause. Tim continued.  
  
“I thought that if I showed him what happened—who did it—that it would, I don’t know. Give him some peace of mind. He’d know. He wouldn’t be in the dark. But…” Tim swallowed, and swallowed hard, and looked at Jason. “I showed him. I showed him everything. And the memories—that little girl’s memories—they were so unbelievably vivid that her father…” Tim remembered the crazed look in the older man’s eyes, “…he thought he did it. He believed he did it, because everything was so clear. He confessed. And a few days later, committed suicide.”  
  
Jason was looking at him, hardly darting glances back to the road. “Are you telling me that, not only can you see into the pasts of things, but you can use your weirdo mind magic and show other people exactly what you’ve seen?”  
  
Tim glared at Jason. “You’re missing the point. No, I can’t. I destroyed a man with it once and I’m never doing it again. Even if the other person’s a psychic. Especially if the other person is a psychic.”  
  
It was hard tell what Jason was thinking, until he simply let out a low whistle. “You are a piece of work.”  
  
“You don’t have to work hard at making me feel bad about something I regret to this day,” Tim folded his arms over his chest and sank into his seat, edging away from Jason and his judgment.  
  
“I didn’t mean it that way.” Jason replied, after a minute. “I killed someone once, too. And unlike you, I had to pay for it with my soul. So my sympathy is a little limited.”  
  
Tim looked at him like he was crazy. “You what?”  
  
“Why do you think you only see white when you get all grabby hands with me?”  
  
Tim watched Jason, waiting for more of an explanation. When the quiet between them lasted a moment too long, Jason stated, eyes glued to the road, “The Order is the only way I can get it back.”  
  
A semi blazed by, and the sound of it breezing past filled the gap where Tim would have replied, only he wasn’t sure what to say. Jason didn’t have a soul? That’s not the impression Tim had ever gotten after making contact with him. In fact, Jason felt better than most people did—there was a pureness there that drowned out the bad things that haunted Tim—that had to count for something, right?  
  
“So…” Tim changed topics after he saw the light in Jason’s eyes dim, as if maybe he’d expected Tim to pose an argument. Tim didn’t know about souls and all of that, so he just tipped his head back and asked, “What’s up with Dick and Damian?”  
  
“Not my story to tell.” Jason’s words were clipped, and Tim knew for sure that he’d either offended Jason, or disappointed him, so he held fast to the silence that drowned them, one thought on his mind.  
  
 _You really shouldn’t be taking me to a psychic._  
  
***  
  
The drive was long, and somewhere along the way, Tim had fallen asleep. The gentle hum of tires treading the road and the distant beat of rock music that Jason had started up lulled him into a false sense of security. When he woke up, it was because they’d arrived, and Tim tried to reason with Jason one more time.  
  
“It’s not a good idea.”  
  
Jason had ignored him and threatened to drag him out of the car, so Tim had tagged along reluctantly, feeling even more panicked when Bruce was waiting inside for them.  
  
“Hey, old man,” Jason waved to him unceremoniously, but Bruce’s gaze lingered on Tim like he was a piñata, full of sweet secrets. It wasn’t surprising. If what Jason had admitted was true, and he had something as powerful as Ra’s inside of him, he suspected that he was a bit like a lock box.  
  
“If you call me ‘old woman’, I’ll beat you.”  
  
Tim turned to a woman in a wheelchair; his first impression was that she was beautiful in her own way, sheeted with red hair, glasses riding the bridge of her nose.  
  
“I don’t doubt it,” Jason responded dryly, but the woman’s attention had already drifted to Tim, and he felt like an ant under a microscope, lost in her scrutiny.  
  
“Timothy Drake.” She held out her hand, and Tim double-checked that his gloves were still on before he shook hands with her. He felt on guard; his walls were high.  
  
“Don’t worry. You’re not going to hurt me.” She smiled up at him, and added. “My name is Barbara. You all want to get started soon, yes?”  
  
“As soon as possible.” Bruce inserted, and Barbara sighed, looking an awful lot like she was used to midnight calls from the Wayne family. She led the way down a hallway, and when Jason and Bruce came up behind Tim, caging him in, and he found he had no choice but to follow.  
  
The building looked like a normal office from the outside, but the inside was tacky with charts on palm reading, constellations, and other various symbols and spiritual posters. The doorways had no doors, only curls of ribbons and beads that acted as one. Tim swept through one of them, into a room lit with at least a hundred candles, and was offered a seat on a plush pillow in front of an ancient looking table.  
  
Tim didn’t move towards it. Instead, he locked eyes with Barbara. “I shouldn’t be here. This isn’t some game—you shouldn't mess around with my abilities just because you think you might be strong enough to resist them.”  
  
Bruce’s fingers slid over his shoulder, and Tim froze. “This doesn’t have anything to do with your psychometry. Just Ra’s. Just talking with him. Jason says he tries to communicate with you?”  
  
Tim pulled away from Bruce’s hold and shrugged. “How am I supposed to know? He was trying to warn me about the…” Tim wasn’t sure what a possessed person was called. “About the thing that attacked us, but other than that…”  
  
Barbara took her place at the table and looked fascinated. “Ra’s knew you were being hunted?”  
  
Jason snorted. “Ra’s knew Ra’s was being hunted. The body had the League symbol carved into it.”  
  
Barbara’s bright green eyes widened and she glanced over to Bruce. “The League was supposed to have died with him.”  
  
“Yeah, well life has a funny way of screwing you over,” Jason pushed past Tim and plopped down on a pillow, scooting back until he was leaning against the wall. “If anyone knows what’s going on, I’m guessing it’s the big guy stuck in him.”  
  
Jason pointed at Tim, and Bruce looked at him.  
  
“You said that you don’t trust me,” Tim said to both of them. “I don’t trust you. I don’t want you fishing inside of my head.”  
  
Bruce looked vaguely sympathetic, and from the table, Barbara was holding up her hand. “Unfortunately, babe, we don’t really need your permission.”  
  
It took all of five seconds before Tim felt his legs give out and the world fall to darkness.  
  
***  
  
  
“Well, that was unnecessary.” Jason eyed Barbara sourly as he and Bruce arranged Tim’s body so that it was half-draped over the table.

“Trust me,” Barbara said quietly. “If you knew how much power this kid is emanating, you wouldn’t question my judgment.”

Jason snorted. “I’m sure he’ll be useful even after the concussion.”

“Stop it, both of you,” Bruce mediated with a deep sigh. He sat down next to Barbara and gave her a firm stare. “I just want to get this over with.”

Jason didn’t argue because he was thinking the same thing. He took one last look at Tim’s unconscious form, remembering what he’d said about how powerful his thoughts could be. Funny, because he didn’t look so intimidating drunk under the Oracle’s influence, mouth slightly parted as he took belabored breaths.

“So how are we doing this? Blood binding? Entrapment sigil?” Jason kicked a pillow up from in front of him and saw that the latter already existed, and that Tim was well placed in the center of it.

Barbara leaned backward to rifle through a chest of drawers that was behind her, covered in brightly colored linen and tapestry. She pulled out a shining silver blade, and Jason shrugged off his leather jacket, watching as Bruce rolled up the sleeve to his white collared work shirt.

They all took turns pricking their fingers and collectively drawing a smeared pentagram on the tabletop, and Barbara gave them each a significant look. “Can one of you finish it?”

Finishing it meant that the palm of Tim’s hand had to be pressed to the bloody symbol. Jason, being the only one that didn’t run the risk of being read by Tim’s psychometry, did the dirty work. He slid the glove off Tim’s hand and did what he needed to, grimacing when blood oozed from beneath it.

“Good.” Barbara stated, as she wiped her hand on a towel, and tossed it to Bruce. He did the same, and eventually handed it to Jason, who wiped the cut on his palm half-heartedly.

“I’m already tethered to him, since I had to put him out. And because of that, I can already get a sense of what’s going on.” She glanced between the two men and shook her head. “The demon’s power—it’s not just in him. It’s around him. A part of him. Demons possess people because they need a host…” Her words drifted, as she was lost in thought. “Tim’s more than that. It’s almost like he could use this power, if he wanted to.”

Jason didn’t miss the way that Bruce shifted, obviously surprised.

“He’s already used it,” Jason told them. “At the hotel, before you showed up.” He looked at Bruce and then back at Tim. “We were on the floor because he put us there.”

Barbara gasped, her lips turning down in horror. “What? He knows how to use it?”

Bruce watched him just as seriously, and Jason shook his head. “No. It wasn’t like that. He was spooked, so he reacted. It was Damian’s fault, really.”

“Damian…” Barbara said, and the way the name left her lips sounded like a curse. “I’m not surprised.”

“Watch what you say,” Bruce stated carefully, and Barbara glanced up at him, stared for the briefest of moments, and then smiled.

“I’m sorry.” She looked at Tim and made a command. “Timothy Drake, sit up.”

Jason shifted away when Tim’s body obeyed, his entire body sliding upward into a sitting position; everything moving except for his hand which seemed pinned to the table; held by the pentagram.

“Timothy, I’d like to speak with the demon inside of you.”

Tim didn’t move or say anything. He stayed perfectly still, and Jason wondered if he’d always been so pale.

“He has a name,” Tim said at last, but it wasn’t quite Tim’s voice, or tone.

Barbara threw a cautious look at Jason, who then turned his attention to Bruce.

“We’d like to speak with Ra’s,” the older man specified, looking completely unimpressed and unafraid.

Tim’s lashes slid upward, revealing his glossy blue eyes, and he smiled. “And his name happens to be Ra’s.”

It was eerie seeing Tim like this—it had been disturbing the first time in the hotel, too.

There was something about Tim himself, in certain situations, that was intimidating. He was smart and manipulative. He could read people like books. He wasn’t afraid like normal people were of the things they didn’t understand.

But when Ra’s spoke through Tim, his features changed. They altered just slightly enough that Tim’s goodness didn’t show through. Jason hadn’t even realized that Tim had that feeling about him—a feeling that, despite Jason denial of it, he could be trusted.

But the eyes that looked back at him now, Tim’s eyes, were empty of all emotion. Vacant. The sight made Jason’s skin crawl.

“Well, well. I always knew we’d meet again, but I never thought it would be so quiet.”

Tim’s head rolled to the side, soaking in the faces of those seated around him. Jason stiffened when Tim’s eyes, icy and foreign, lingered on his own. “I know you.”

“Glad to hear. I’m the one that put you under, remember?” Jason couldn’t stop the words from tumbling from his mouth, and he held the gaze that Ra’s was giving him.

“And isn’t it humorous,” Ra’s smiled, and it looked unnaturally sociopathic on Tim. “It looks like I didn’t need Damian after all. Poor Jason Todd. He lost his soul for nothing.”

Jason’s fingers tightened to fists and he felt his blood run cold, knowing that what Ra’s said was right. He’d been thinking it ever since he’d discovered that Ra’s was the one inside of Tim. He felt furious. He’d killed Ra’s once, and he wasn’t afraid to do it again, soul or no soul.

Fingers snapped, and they were Bruce’s, drawing Ra’s’ attention way from Jason. Tim’s head turned, and bangs fell into his face, making him look wild. “I’m not your dog.”

“At the moment, you’re whatever I want you to be.”

“Am I?”

Barbara let out a pained cry and grabbed her temples, breathing heavily. It was enough to make Jason jump, even if Bruce remained completely stoic and calm.

“What’s the matter?” Jason asked her, scooting closer warily.

“He’s forcing Tim to wake up. I can’t keep him under like this.” She panted and clenched her eyes closed, focusing hard to stay in Tim’s mind and not get forced out.

“You see, it’s an interesting thing that’s happened here. More interesting than any of you know, most definitely.” Ra’s tilted his head to the side and blew Tim’s bangs from his eyes with a puff of air. “Your psychic’s onto it, though. This Timothy Drake—he’s got enough of his own strength to keep me here. But you know how psychics are…their powers drifting in and out and in and out…”

Ra’s said the end like he was mimicking the way a boat rocked, and Barbara seemed to move along with the words, her cheeks turning green like she was riding waves that no one else could see.

“And of course, mine is going to seep out with it.” Ra’s hunched forward, and Barbara sucked in a deep breath of air, apparently freed from whatever hold he’d managed to get on her.

Bruce leaned forward and settled his elbows onto the table, drawing his hands up to support his chin. He stared at Ra’s intently, and Jason remembered that this was the way it had always been—the way they’d always looked at each other, even when Ra’s had been alive.

“Are you saying that you’re bound?”

“In ways.” A corner of Tim’s lips lifted. “I’m telling you that he’s sucking up an unhealthy portion of my powers. He’s—“ Ra’s slid his attention to Jason. “—wound up.”  
Jason felt his heart thud in his chest, remembering that Tim had admitted to feeling that way. So, what…he needed to burn off demonic energy?

“Why are you telling us this?”

This time, Ra’s laughed. And since Jason had never heard Tim laugh, it was a terrifying sound. “Honestly, Bruce. To kill me, you’ll have to kill him. I’m saving my own existence, since I’ve found the perfect host. He can use my powers. In the end, I’ll be able to use him.”

Bruce’s eyes narrowed, and Jason felt led in his gut.

Ra’s sighed airily. “It’s a shame, really, how secretive you are. You should have taken him in when he was a kid. Or kept him at the manor just a tiny bit longer. He would have been able to save this all from happening, you know.”

The tension in the room could be cut with a knife. The silence was weary.

“Stop what from happening?”

“That is the question, now, isn’t it? I’m afraid I’m too much a fan of good mysteries to simply give away the clues. But I’ll give you a hint.” His voice pitched lower, and suddenly, he was serious. “Tim is a detective. A far better detective than any of you.”

And with that, Ra’s slipped back, apparently bored with the conversation.

Jason almost growled with frustration. “Stop giving us riddles. Who’s after you? The League? The League doesn’t exist!”

Again, Ra’s sighed, and summoned an expression of pity. “Who is trying to kill me, indeed? Especially when I am already dead…”

“Ugh, he’s doing it again,” Barbara huffed a few times, her gaze lingering on Ra’s as she shook her head. “I can’t hold him.”

“Let him go,” Bruce stated, and Barbara obeyed, even when Jason banged his hands on the tabletop in anger.

“Just let him go? You go through all of this—put him through all of this—“ he pointed at Tim, who was crumpling forward again, “—just to let Ra’s go?”

“He doesn’t know who’s after him.” Bruce eyed Jason levelly. “But he gave us a clue. It’s someone who knows he’s supposed to be dead.”

Jason fell back against his pillow and waved his hands in the air, irritated. “And what was all that nonsense about keeping Tim at the manor longer?”

“Timothy Drake. Wake up,” Barbara commanded as sternly as she could, but it was obvious that she was weak. She’d paled and was shaky, and worst of all, she looked like she hadn’t been worked that hard in a long time.

Groaning, Tim pushed himself up from the table. His eyes blinked open groggily, and Jason was relieved to see that he looked like his normal self.

“What…” he looked around the table, took in the faces, and then noticed that his hand seemed glued to the table. “You knocked me out!”

Barbara shrugged, like she’d been accused of worse. “I’m sure you use your powers for the greater good all of the time,” she replied cynically.

Tim opened his mouth to rebuke, but it snapped closed.

“Tim,” Bruce said, and Tim turned his head, fury and distrust in his eyes.

“What?”

“I know that you’re upset—“

“Understatement of the century,” Tim spat back, but Bruce just carried on, unaffected.

“—I need you to answer something that’s very important. At the manor, what did you see?”

Tim looked dumbfounded. “What? What are you talking about?”

“Did you see anything suspicious?” Jason tagged, and the look Tim shot him made him feel like Tim was even angrier with him, like his betrayal in this situation had been worse than anyone else’s.

“Like a house full of Chival?” Tim shot back, and when Jason saw Bruce react, he felt his defenses fly up.

“He had a right to know,” Jason stated before he got a lecture. He knew he’d get one later, anyway, but for now, they needed to stay focused on what Ra’s had said.  
Bruce gave him a look that said they’d definitely be having a discussion later, and said,

“Tim, it’s important.”

“Everything at your manor is suspicious.” Tim stated, and he pinched his eyes closed briefly when he felt the small swell of a headache come and go.

“Some things more than others?”

Silence settled between them, and Jason saw something subtle shift in Tim’s features, and then, annoyed, his eyes were open and he was trying to move his hand. “Can someone please undo whatever’s holding me down?”

“It’s too soon for you to leave, yet—“ Barbara said, and for the first time, Jason saw Tim lose his temper completely.

“I’m not trying to leave. I’m trying to get my hand free because I’m right-handed so I can draw something and answer your stupid question.” He held Barbara’s stare long enough that she swallowed, audibly, and the room suddenly felt thick.

Jason wondered if it was because Tim was genuinely angry, or if it was a result of what Ra’s had mentioned—that his power was bleeding out.

Bruce held his hand out and motioned for the blade they’d used earlier. Barbara handed it to him uneasily, and one by one, they each reopened their cuts and let a single drop of blood fall onto the back on Tim’s hand. When the third drop hit, Tim yanked his hand back and snatched his glove up from beside him.

Before he was done pulling it on, Bruce was already passing over a paper and pen. Tim ignored them and pulled out the pad from his chest pocket; the ones he always used and trusted.

Jason watched him sketch. He wasn’t an artist by any means, but he remembered details like a modern day Sherlock Holmes. He scribbled a circle, jotted lines that crossed, even plotted intricate designs within a series of bubbles, and it took a few seconds, but Jason recognized it right away.

He and Bruce met eyes.

“It can’t be,” They said in unison.

Jason jumped to his feet and fumbled with his phone, tripping over pillows while he dialed out. Tim was looking up at him, his anger dimmed somewhat and replaced by confusion.

“Are they picking up?”

“No,” Jason bellowed, winding his way out of the room. “Isn’t there a goddamn room in this place with decent reception?”

He jogged down the hall and broke out into the night, and when the other line picked up, he swallowed thickly.

“Alfred—Alfred, about Dick and Damian—“

 _“There’s been an accident,_ ” Alfred interrupted him, and the phone’s volume was loud enough that the butler’s words bled out into the night.

“Alfred—“

_“He severed the bond, Jason.”_

Lightening cracked against the night sky.

It sounded like a soul being torn into two.


	11. Chapter 11

The color drained from Jason’s face, and Tim was dragged outside by Bruce, who, for once, looked like he was on pins and needles. The older man kept looking down at the drawing Tim had done - his scribbled version of the sigil he’d seen scratched into Damian’s bedroom floor, hidden behind the kid’s bed. Tim could still smell the sulfur again, and when he thought of the moment he’d touched the marking, he was flooded with the miserable feeling of loneliness he’d experienced back then.   
  
“That’s not possible,” Jason was saying, and Bruce let go of Tim’s arm, trading his brutish manhandling for holding out his hand, silently demanding that Jason pass over the phone.  
  
Almost helplessly, Jason complied.  
  
“What happened?” Tim asked, watching as Bruce wandered off and lowered his voice.   
  
Jason stared at Tim like he’d forgotten he was even there. The look was crushing, somehow, and Tim felt more like an outsider than he had in days. When Jason didn’t reply, Tim sank backwards, and touched his hand to his forehead when a small wave of dizziness blotted out his vision.  
  
Jason didn’t notice because his attention had drifted back to Bruce, and he stood there like a man starving for words and information. He was listening intently, and Tim watched him, trying to convince himself that he didn’t care, when, in truth, he was utterly curious.  
  
From behind them, Barbara wheeled her way out to the scene, looking less concerned than Tim would have expected. Or maybe that wasn’t unusual at all. Psychics never seemed surprised. Tim was sure that others thought the same about him.  
  
Barbara opened her mouth to speak, but Jason beat her to it.  
  
“Don’t even think about saying I told you so.”  
  
Whether or not she was thinking that was unknown, but she settled back into her chair, looking dismally affronted. She bit her lips to keep quiet, and moments after, Bruce was handing Jason’s phone back to him and dictating a plan of action.  
  
“We need to get back.”  
  
Barbara arched an eyebrow and tossed a glance at Tim. “And what about him? You know you can’t let things keep going the way that they are.”  
  
The wind ruffled Bruce’s jacket behind him. His eyes looked glossy in the dark, reflecting the lights that peppered the nearly empty town behind them.  
  
“My priority now is Dick and Damian,” Bruce said levelly.   
  
Jason had been fairly quiet, but now, he nodded. “Right. We need to be thinking about our wards,” he looked Bruce dead in the eye, and then stole Barbara’s attention. “I’m sure whatever ideas you have can wait.”  
  
Barbara licked at her lips and eyed the both of them intently. “You need to do a bone diadem.”  
  
Jason cast a glance at Tim, let out a bubble of laughter, and then snorted. “Not a chance in hell.”  
  
Barbara shifted, unconvinced. “You’ve done one before.”  
  
“Yeah, and we all know how great that turned out.” He paced a few steps, caught between Bruce and Barbara’s thoughtful gazes, and abruptly pointed at Tim.  “Dick had Damian. He’s got no one. He wouldn’t survive it.”  
  
A cold thread wove its way up Tim’s spine, and he took a few steps backwards. “Wait, we’re talking about me?”  
  
“He’s got Ra’s.” Barbara interjected. “Trust me, he’ll survive it.”  
  
Tim held up his hands. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Back up. Anything that I have a high chance of  _not_  living through, I think I should have a say in.”  
  
“For once, I’m with him,” Jason took a few lofty step towards Tim and crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s too dangerous. It was too risky the first time, and it’s not any less dangerous now.”  
  
Bruce seemed to stand taller, eyes narrowing as he came to a decision. “The Oracle is right,” he announced, though he didn’t look entirely pleased to admit it. “If Damian really  _did_  manage to sever the bond, you’re right - the wards aren’t going to hold. Our sigils were strong enough because they had  _his_  blood holding them together. I can handle Damian - right now, you’re the only person that can handle him -” Bruce shot a brief glance Tim’s way, “- and try to at least prevent anything from happening with Ra’s while our defenses are down.”  
  
The words settled like cement around them, and Tim, in the dark as to what they were talking about, dropped his hands to his sides and let any polite pretenses he had fall.  
  
“Does anyone want to tell me what’s going on?” he looked around, not sure if his skin was prickling because of the breeze, the anger bubbling beneath his words, or something else entirely.  
  
There was obviously a change in his tone, too, because Jason cocked his head to the side and gave him a look.   
  
“I get it, to an extent,” Tim started, his words heated. “The secrecy. But in less than a week, I’ve been possessed by something, attacked by a demon, dragged halfway to the middle of nowhere -” he motioned to the emptiness that surrounded them, “-all so that you all could have a go at my mind without me having any control of the situation. Obviously you found something you didn’t like, so please stop treating me like I’m a child and tell me what I need to know to protect myself.”  
  
All eyes went to Bruce, as though he had to be the one to make the call. This infuriated Tim even more.  
  
“I don’t care what you think that you know about me. You don’t trust me? Fine. But if you keep me in the dark, you’ll lose all and any opportunities of me ever trusting you. Which, believe me, is much worse.”  
  
Tim’s head was pounding and his heart beat a steady  _thump-thump_  in his chest, and the cool night air around him seemed to grow warmer. His vision took turns on being crystal clear to chaotically blurry, and Tim did his best to ignore the sensation of wild energy pooling within him.  
  
Jason shifted on his feet, and his hand slowly crept to where he kept his gun. Bruce, on the other hand, looked slightly intrigued.

“Is this what you were talking about, Barb?” he asked.  
  
All of the pent up energy that Tim felt was vibrating through him, like he was a bowstring pulled too taught. He looked down at himself, but didn’t see anything that looked out of the ordinary. From beside him, however, Barbara answered Bruce’s question with a nod.

At once, Jason was circling him wildly. “You don’t feel anything?”  
  
“Are you joking?”  Tin snapped. Of course he was  _feeling_  something. “The tone I’m using is called anger. Should I draw a picture?” His hand went to his chest pocket, as if to grab his sketchbook, and Jason’s face fell to irritation.  
  
“Your leaking Ra’s’ power,” Bruce stepped forward, and as he did, his boots crunched against gravel. “You’re telling me you don’t feel any different?”  
  
Tim twisted his head towards the older man, disbelief etched across his face. He took a deep breath. Finally, he shook his head. “I feel the same as I have the past couple of days. Except now I’m livid, thanks to all of you. And -”  
  
“Wound up?” Jason threw in, quoting both Tim from a day ago and Ra’s from earlier.   
  
Bruce raised an eyebrow and Tim found that description to be pretty accurate. “Yeah.”  
  
“You should do the diadem, Jason.” Barbara directed from her chair. “Before he’s anywhere near Damian. If Tim isn’t on your hit list, and you’re not going to exorcise him, you’ve got to safeguard.”  
  
It happened faster than Tim could help it, his frustration and fear turning into one blinding mess of rage that had him balling his fists and shouting, “Stop making decisions for me!”

Along with the words, a rush of something was ripped out of him, and it rippled out like an aftershock. Car alarms wailed after a few of the nearby vehicles rocked in place, like a hefty gust of wind had jarred them.   
  
There was silence, and Tim was suddenly shaking, feeling more of the heated energy within him bubble up. “What…” he looked down at his hands, confused, and then looked at Barbara. “What did you do to me?”  
  
Dark eyebrows curled inward as Barbara looked suddenly offended, and Bruce ran a hand through his hair and spoke before she had a chance to reply. “Jason, do it.”  
  
Anxiety created a weight in Tim’s stomach, and he shook his head. “Wait -”  
  
“Tell him whatever you think he needs to know. Can you handle it on your own?”  
  
Tim turned to watch Jason, waiting for him to say no, as he had before. He looked like he might object, but then a resolution overcame him, and his face went stern. “Yes.”  
  
“Good.” Bruce replied. “I’m headed back to Gotham. Good luck. Try to make sure nothing goes wrong.”  
  
“What, like me dying?” Tim threw in, but Bruce only cast him a weary glance before motioning Barbara to follow him towards his car. Before she spun after him, she gave Tim a hard look.  
  
“For the record,  _I_  didn’t do anything.”  
  
And with that, she left to follow Bruce, disappearing into the shadows behind him.  
  
Tim’s nerves flared up when he realized that, ultimately, he didn’t have any control of the situation. He stared at the place where Bruce and Barbara had faded into darkness, and couldn’t bring himself to turn and look Jason in the eye.  
  
“You’re doing it again,” Jason stepped in front of him, one lone eyebrow lifted as he tried to gage the expression on Tim’s face. It must have made Jason uncertain, and Tim didn’t blame him - he was breathing heavily through his nose, and he could feel it more now - the excess energy ebbing through him.

Tim swallowed thickly. “It wasn’t like this before.”  
  
Jason, for all intents and purposes, looked sympathetic. “Yeah. Pulling Ra’s out probably pulled some of his power out with him.”  
  
“Smart.” Tim glared at him.  
  
Jason held out his hand.  
  
Tim raised an eyebrow at him.

“It will help, for now, won’t it?” Jason looked aggravated, and when Tim wasn’t sure how to answer, Jason simply tugged up the cuff of Tim’s sleeve and wrapped his fingers around his wrist.  
  
The reaction was automatic;  a small bit of relief swelled through Tim, and he felt calm, blinking past the initial burst of white he always seemed to get when Jason and his skin touched.   
  
“Better?”  
  
Tim gave him a speculative glare, but the truth was in his eyes; it was better.  
  
Jason didn’t look pleased, necessarily, but he nodded and then started them both towards the car. “Bone diadems are…rare. Mostly because there aren’t many people that can do them.”

”Because they’re dangerous?” Tim prompted as they separated in order to slide into Jason’s car. As soon as they were settled, Tim was surprised to see just how pale Jason was, like he was battling nerves.

“Yeah. For both parties involved,” Jason answered. Seeing Jason anxious made Tim’s stomach climb to his throat.   He drove uncharacteristically slow on the interstate, and the passing street lights lit a steady rhythm on his face. “Damian’s half human.”

“I figured as much,” Tim shrugged and rubbed his eyes. There had always been something about Damian that was…different.  
  
“I’m assuming that you know that everything I’m telling you is a secret?”  
  
Tim blinked blearily. “And who would believe me?”  
  
Jason didn’t say anything, but Tim had a point. After a moment, he asked, “So…what about Dick?”

Jason didn’t look at him. “He’s Damian’s soulmate.”

A smile born of pure disbelief tugged Tim’s lips upward. “What?”

”You asked, and that’s what they are. Literally. They share a soul. When Damian was born…” Jason’s words drifted. “Do you know what a soul is? What is really is?”

The dividing lines of the street disappeared beneath the car, and Tim watched them with a dizzying satisfaction. “Are you asking for a definition?”

Jason shook his head, but he shifted in his seat, like the topic made him uncomfortable. “Yes, it’s a life force, and all of that spiritualistic mumbo-jumbo. But it’s more than that. You need one to die, and actually go somewhere after you do. Somewhere good, at least. Because that’s what a soul is: the potential for good.”

Tim’s head lulled to the side, thinking. Then he said, “So Damian wasn’t born with a one?”

“Half a soul,” Jason corrected. “He had half. Not enough.” The steering wheel made a noise as Jason’s fingers tightened around it. “The Law of Chival said we’d have to kill him. Bruce was a wreck, because Damian was his son. We avoided the priesthood for a while, and Bruce found these grimoires…the Forbidden Texts is what we call them. He found this binding spell, and…pretty much forced Dick into performing it.”

Watching Jason, it was easy to see that he was still bitter. He was staring off onto the road as if the past was replaying before him.    Wind whistled outside of the vehicle, and Tim tipped his head back against the headrest, ignoring his own discomfort in order to keep the conversation going. “So Dick and Damian share a soul.”   
  
The words sank in, and Tim wondered just what that meant.

“It’s more than that.” Jason said, but he didn’t elaborate. Instead, he changed the topic. “Dick left  right after the binding. We knew he wouldn’t be able to stay away for too long. Eventually the bond would pull them together—literally kill them if they were apart. It was a couple years after he was out of college until it activated, more or less, and Tim, I’m telling you—the type of bond they have—it hasn’t been done in centuries. It’s almost killed them more times than we know, but it’s really the only thing that’s kept them alive, too. They can’t not have it. Not at this point.”

Tim digested the information. It settled thick in his gut, especially when he remembered the time when he’d shown up at Dick’s apartment, and it had been empty. No note, no goodbye, no explanation—just a hollow space where Tim had expected to find a friend, and found his reflection in the window instead.

He’d been really hurt back then, but he’d moved on. He’d made it work on his own. Still, he wished he had known what was going on; he wondered if life would have been different if he had just once touched something of Dick’s and seen his life.

“I don’t feel very well,” Tim managed, and it was true. He was burning up.  
  
Jason gave him a dirty look. “Throw up in my car and I’ll kill you.”

Memories of how Tim had felt in the hotel were drifting to the forefront of his thoughts. Hot, sick to his stomach, and half suffocated by an energy he couldn’t place. He clenched his eyes closed and tried to lose himself in the gentle rumble of the road beneath worn tires, and said, “So what else happened?”

Jason grumbled, and the car tilted as he made a sharp turn. “Well, the bond started working. Too well, actually, and just like how Ra’s’ energy is leaking out of you, Damian’s was pouring out of him—straight into Dick. So Bruce found another spell, another one from the Texts; the bone diadem. The process almost killed Dick.”

Tim’s eyes snapped open with alarm. “What?”

“We’re here. Come on.”   Tim hadn’t realized that they’d parked, and looming before him was a cheap and seedy motel, with hardly any cars in the lot. It was on the edge of some tiny town that had probably fallen off the map years ago, and its neon sign flickered on and off like it couldn’t decide if it even wanted to be open anymore.

A wave of heat rippled through Tim when Jason pulled his hand away, and for the smallest second, his vision blurred. He blinked the sensation away, looked down at his hand, and fumbled for his glove. There was rapping at his window before Jason tugged his door open and pulled him out.

Checking in was quick and easy, or maybe it just felt like it because Tim was in a haze. The voice in his head was back again, murmuring things he couldn’t understand. He drummed his fingers idly on the arm of his waiting chair, wondering if he should run; see as far as he could get.

Dick had almost died?

Tim swallowed and rubbed his eyes, and before he knew it, Jason was dragging him to the room farthest from any light, any sign of life. The door was cradled in darkness, and the yard beyond it was in such disrepair that the branches of an old spruce tree clawed at the window and reached for the door.   Tim could see the branch stretching forward, twigs turning to fingers, folding towards him; ready to grab him and drag him, scraped and screaming, into the night. He was fifteen feet from the door, staring at the tree irrationally frightened, telling himself it wasn’t real when Jason grabbed him by the arm and yanked him into the room.  
  
“Stay put,” Jason eyed him. “I’ll be right back.”  
  
So Tim obeyed, idly, until Jason came back minutes later with some stones he’d collected from outside. He lined them up on the edges of an imaginary circle, ignoring Tim’s confusion.

“What does it feel like?” Jason asked him, as he was ripping off his leather jacket and digging through a pocket for something. There was an urgency in his tone, and Tim guessed that he didn’t really look as sane as he had earlier.

“Like at the hotel,” Tim stated. “It’s just hot, and red, and there’s the voice…”

Jason glanced up at him briefly before he tugged a black marker free and immediately started scribbling something on the comforter of the bedding, and then the blanket and sheets beneath, and then the pillows, and then the floor…

“There’s only one bed…” Tim thought absently, and when he took a few hesitant steps forward, he saw that Jason was drawing the luaithindri knot on everything imaginable. The walls, the headboard, the table…   Tim sank backwards, his heart jackhammering. His chest was breathtakingly tight as he watched Jason’s silent work and wondered what it meant. His feet moved without him knowing, and finally he found that he couldn’t back up any further, when his back hit the door with a resounding thump.

The noise inspired Jason to look up, and the intense look of concentration he’d had faded.   “You’re not going to die.”

Tim could feel a cold sweat forming on his temples. “You said I could.”

“All right. You  _probably_  won’t die.”   There was humor there, but Jason was serious, too.

Tim hugged his arms to his chest. “Why can’t it stay the way it is now?”

Jason finished scribbled various markings in other places, and then pulled the bed away from the wall. Its legs screamed against the floor, which was wood, and Jason got down on all fours. “If we don’t try to stop it now, it will get worse. Ra’s said that he’d be able to take over.”

Tim swallowed. “I don’t feel—I don’t feel like he has control over me.”

“Not now,” Jason stated, drawing a sigil that swallowed most of the room, and curled behind the bed. “But someday.”   Tim watched him nervously.

Frustrated, Jason groaned. “Look, I’ve just got to put some wards in you. On some of your bones. That’s it.”

“But Dick almost died.”

“Dick  _didn’t_  die,” Jason growled. “And you’re different. You’ve got Ra’s inside of you. That has to count for something.”

Sliding down to the floor, Tim took a few short breaths; feeling like the room was closing in on him, and he blinked past the sinking feeling. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Jason kicked off his shoes and flipped up the ankle of his jeans, and drew the _luaithindri_  there. He pulled off his shirt and tossed it aside, and Tim swallowed hard when Jason came towards him, like a predator.

“I feel like I should be enjoying how terrified you look right now, but it’s actually making me nervous. Can you go back to your normal irritatingly fearless self just until we finish up?”

The comment had Tim frowning. “I’m not afraid of you.”

“That’s more like it.” Jason grabbed him by the arm and hauled him over to the bed, and Tim pulled against him. It was a weak attempt, and when Jason finally let go, he was telling Tim to take off his jacket and shirt as well.   Tim looked at the bed, and then at Jason, a new fear vibrating through him.

“What? Why do we have to be naked?”

Jason looked down at his jeans, confused, and when he looked back up at Tim, his lashes fell deviously over his eyes. “And what are  _you_  thinking?”

Surprise had Tim going rigid. “Nothing.” Tim snatched his shirt up, embarrassed. “Not that.”  
  
The amusement didn’t leave Jason; he clung to it with a smirk. After Tim had kicked off his shoes, he stood hesitantly, his arms crossing awkwardly over his chest. His eyes captured anything that wasn’t Jason until the palms of Jason’s hands were on him, pushing him backwards onto the bedding. Jason climbed over him, and goose pimples prickled on Tim’s flesh.  
  
If Tim were being honest, he would have admitted that the fear he’d felt about the bone diadem vanished the moment that Jason slid on top of him, his fingers cold and calloused as they felt their way up and over Tim’s ribs. When they settled on his collar bone, Tim unconsciously fisted the comforter on either side of him.  
  
Jason was starring down at him, as if asking for permission to continue.   
  
Tim’s pulse was erratic.  
  
“I’m going to start here,” Jason pressed down lightly, and Tim just bit his lip and nodded hastily. Jason pulled his hands back up and pulled a pocket knife from his jeans, and started away at his palms.   
  
Tim watched in a combination of fascination and disgust, as Jason carved light sigils onto the underside of his hands. It was detail work, really, and took him some time. When he was satisfied, he pressed his palms to Tim’s chest.  
  
Pain wove its way through Tim’s body in tendrils, making his fingers clench and his toes curl. His flesh felt like it was burning beneath Jason’s hands, and the feeling sank past his skin and to his muscle, until he felt like needles were stabbing at him; scraping at his bones.   
  
Tim’s teeth ground together and he felt his back arch up from the bed, and in response, Jason’s murmuring grew louder as he spoke in a language Tim didn’t know.   
  
An ache poured through every nerve ending on Tim’s body, and he heard Jason say, in English, “Okay, I’ve got to pull some out.”  
  
If he’d meant it as a warning, it wasn’t good enough. One of Jason’s hands lifted from Tim’s chest and he felt himself rise after it, as if he was being lifted by strings. Jason’s other hands pressed him firmly back down, and this time, Tim said, “Stop. Stop—God, stop—”  
  
Tim opened his eyes just in time to freeze in fear, watching as Jason drew his hand upward, pulling thick tendrils of red smoke away from his chest. They looked like they were attached to him—to his insides, as they vanished beneath his shirt. He felt them too, being tugged and ripped away, and bile rose in his throat.  
  
“Jason—” Tim choked out, watching as the red wisps drifted towards the stones Jason had set up. They seemed to absorb the energy, and when Jason deemed that he’d pulled out enough, he used his fingers like scissor and cut the smoky threads.   
  
“It’s like the stone that Dick had,” Jason tried to explain, as sweat beaded on his forehead. “Earth traps these sort of things…”  
  
Leaning closer to him, Jason once again pressed his palms to Tim’s skin, and in a hushed tone, breathed, “Almost done with this one.”  
  
Tim’s back arched again when an even more intense ache spiraled through him, and before he could make a sound, he felt it—something snap. Pure adrenaline pulsed through him, and he shot up from underneath Jason, shoving him backwards with an inhuman amount of force.   
  
He lurched off the bed, only to run into an invisible wall that rose up where the perimeter or Jason’s sigil was drawn. He scraped along it, looking for escape. He was panting, and shaky.  
  
“Fuck.” Jason’s voice caused Tim to spin around, and he watched as Jason ran hand over the place where Tim had made contact, which was already beginning to bruise. He saw Jason stalk towards him, looking wary.   
  
The red haze was overwhelming, and Tim pressed his back to the invisible wall.  
  
He blinked once; he saw Jason.  
  
He blinked a second time, and he saw his father.  
  
 _“You know what will happen if you let me down, right?”_    
  
It was a memory, distinct as ever, and one Tim hadn’t thought of in years. He’d pushed these things aside; he’d stumbled away from them, and locked the box where they resided in the farthest reaches of his mind.  
  
They were nothing but bittersweet regrets.  
  
 _“Remember your mother.”_  His father said next, and his pudgy face drooped the way it always did when he’d had too much liquor. His eyes were glossy and glazed.   
  
 _“Remember your mother.”_  
  
 _“Remember your mother…”_  
  
 _“Remember your—”_  
  
“Tim! Snap out of it.” And Jason slapped him, and Tim suddenly saw him again, and the hotel room, but his thoughts were still bleeding red and he was sick to his stomach in pain.  
  
Tim looked into Jason’s eyes pleadingly. “I didn’t kill her.”  
  
Jason stared back.   
  
Tim shifted towards him. “I didn’t kill her; I didn’t—”  
  
“Okay,” Jason interrupted him, and then, more seriously, “You didn’t kill her.”  
  
Jason’s eyes were serious, and Tim watched mechanically as Jason’s hands drifted back to where they’d been placed on his chest. He scooted in closer, expression more than observant.  
  
“I’m gonna keep going,” Jason said to him, and wouldn’t look away. “Whatever it pulls out, it’s okay, they’re just memories. Say that back to me.”  
  
Tim swallowed thick in his throat. “They’re just memories.”  
  
“They can’t hurt you, got it?”  
  
Jason crawled over him, straddling his thighs where he sat. “We’ve got a lot more to go. Can you handle it?”  
  
Tim wanted to say no; craved running away, going back to who he had been before all of this. But he knew, deep down, that he had to stay.  
  
“It’d be more comfortable on the bed,” Jason motioned back towards it, and Tim’s fingers stretched out until they found Jason’s jeans, and gripped his thighs. “No. I’m fine here. I don’t want to move. I’ll try to get away.”  
  
Jason shifted under the attention, and leaned in close to Tim, pressing their foreheads together like he had at the bar. “Try to stay still.”  
  
Tim snorted and Jason started up again, eyes closed as he repeated whatever it was he’d been saying before. Tim watched as his skin turned pink under Jason’s fingers, and his head fell back against the invisible wall with a crack when a spasm of burning discomfort clawed through him. His fingers dug into the fabric of Jason’s jeans, and his breathing was shallow.   
  
He watched a ceiling fan spin above them, and his head pounded as he remembered one just like it from his childhood.  
  
It had been spinning, spinning, spinning, and he’d been waiting all day, watching it twist, his eyes drawn to the ring of dust on the ceiling above it. The door had flown open.  
  
 _“Timothy—hide.”_  
  
Tim’s father had barked the order at him, his arms bundled with a suitcase and the only raincoat he’d ever had, tattered and patched with gray. Tim had moved quickly, never second guessing his  father when he wore that expression. He dived into their small studio closet and crammed himself between boxes and underneath old clothes—he was skinny enough that he fit.  
  
As soon as his dad closed the closet behind him, the door to the apartment burst open, cracked off the hinges as pale men in dark suits let themselves in. Tim could see them through the cracks in the shutter-style door, and he watched as one man went for his dad, and the others scavenged the room for anything that resembled a dollar bill.  
  
“ _He’s got the case, here_ ,” the leader seemed to say, and he’d pointed at the briefcase Tim had seen his father carrying. His dad looked miserable, and because of it, Tim’s heart pounded. He knew that the suitcase had enough to pay them off, he knew it.  
  
“ _Is this a joke_?” The man rifled through the bag, pulled out a few wads of bills, and slapped them roughly against Tim’s father’s face. “ _This isn’t even half_.”  
  
Tim had watched, stunned. The man was right. All of the money wasn’t there. And Tim’s heart sank because he knew that his father had done what he always did, gambled it away, hoping to get lucky.  
  
“ _I—I have the other half. It’s—it’s invested—_ ”  
  
The man slapped him again, and Tim watched his father visibly deflate.   
  
“ _Where is it.”_  
  
“ _I told you, it’s—_ ”  
  
The man punched him, and Tim saw blood. He moved, ready to pounce out, but his gloved finger hovered over the handle, remembering the one time he had tried to help, and how his mother—  
  
“Tim, come on,” Jason was tugging at him as he stared, eyes glazed, at the ceiling fan, his knuckles white as he clutched at Jason and said, “Just memories, just memories…”  
  
“Just memories,” Jason repeated, but he was watching Tim with calm eyes. His hands left Tim’s chest and fell lower, until he was pressing his thumbs beneath Tim’s jeans, into his thighs, while his fingers sprawled to encompass Tim’s hips.  
  
As Jason’s thumbs shifted to get a better grip, Tim snatched at Jason’s wrists; he looked petrified. “Stop.”  
  
His eyes were wide, like a deer caught in headlights.  
  
Seemingly surprised, Jason glanced up from his ministrations. He frowned. “Don’t go getting any ideas.”  
  
But Tim already had ideas, and everything was hazy, and there was a reason he never had his clothes off around anyone, because there was too much skin, too much chance of contact, except here Jason was, just…touching him, and Tim didn’t let go of Jason as he started the chant again, and he groaned when his hips began to burn under the pressure.   
  
“Get off—” Tim panted, and then whined, “Please get off.”  
  
Jason didn’t listen, just pressed himself closer and spoke a bit faster, and Tim felt it all at once; the realization that Jason was straddling him, the fact their mouths were inches apart, the rough scraping of calloused fingers against his skin, and the fact that he’d never ever had this, or thought about it—for God’s sake it was everything that he feared—  
  
“Jason—”  
  
“I’ve just got to pull some of this excess energy out,” Jason interrupted, probably thinking that it was because of the pain that Tim was freaking out, and he tugged his hands up, pulling on those invisible strings that Tim felt so attached to, and once again directed them to the huge rocks he’d lined to room with.  
  
Tim felt some of his energy dwindle down. His entire body ached, but he was still holding Jason’s wrists, shaking.   
  
“It should feel a little different now,” Jason said, and he was pale, and his lips were dark. He slouched forward a little, and Tim tipped his head back against the sigil’s wall, breathing deep.   
  
“Is…was that it?” Tim asked.  
  
Jason braced his forehead against Tim’s shoulder, trying to catch his breath as well. “Yeah. I think. Maybe.”  
  
“Maybe?” Tim asked, staring at the ceiling fan again, blinking back flickers of memory from his past.  
  
“You have a shit ton of power.” Jason stated tersely. And then, “More than I thought you would.”

Tim could feel Jason’s breath, warm against his chest, and he swallowed. “I’m sorry.”  
  
Jason snorted, and soon after, dissolved into weak laughter. “Sorry for what?”  
  
“I don’t know.” Tim said, after a moment.  
  
“You didn’t die,” Jason’s voice was growing softer. He pushed himself off Tim and slid onto the floor, his back against the hardwood and his eyes flickered.   
  
“I didn’t die,” Tim agreed, and when Jason remained silent, Tim glanced over and sighed when he realized Jason had fallen asleep. He scooted out a bit and shoved at Jason’s foot with his own, but Jason only mumbled before drifting off again.  
  
Tim folded his arms across his belly and summoned enough energy to lay down himself, grimacing when his bones throbbed with soreness. He could see, from the corner of his eye, Jason’s blood smeared across his chest, and a chill ran the length of his body.   
  
The room wasn’t cold, but he was warm. The red haze in the back of his mind hadn’t left, it had just changed. When he closed his eyes, he whispered, “I wish I knew what to expect.”  
  
From the back of his mind, a voice spoke clearly and precisely.   
  
 _“Me, of course. A long and lasting relationship with yours truly, with_ much _better reception.”_

 


	12. Chapter 12

Tim tried to shake Jason awake. He poked him. Pushed at him. Slapped him lightly on the cheeks, expecting Jason to shoot awake with strings of curses and flailing limbs.  
  
Jason’s head simply lulled to the side.  
  
“Jason,” Tim said, and his tone harshened. “Wake up!”  
  
It was a lost cause, and Tim cursed.  
  
_“You are hurting my feelings,”_  came the voice inside his head again, and Tim pressed his palms to his ears as he scrambled up and raced towards the edge of the sigil. It rose like an invisible wall, however, and he bumbled against it, eyes widened as he quickly began feeling around for an escape. Of course he didn’t find one, and this point was iterated by Ra’s saying, with due boredom, _“You do realize that you cannot escape something that is inside of you, correct?”_  
  
Tim paused, his fingernails scraping against what should have been thin air, and let his palms settle against the unseen cage. He took a few deep breaths. “What do you want?”  
  
Laughter bubbled up inside of him, from the voice not his own.  _“Shall we count the things?”_  
  
“What do you want from  _me_?” Tim rephrased.  
  
_“The real question is, Timothy Drake, what do you want from me?”_  
  
The room’s light flickered, and Tim heard a few dogs yipping outside. Other than that, it was painfully quiet, which made Ra’s’ presence all the more noticeable.  
  
“Why would I want anything from you?” Tim asked, disbelievingly. He felt trapped, and he knew that even if he could step beyond the sigil, Ra’s would still be with him.  
  
_“Timothy, Timothy, Timothy…”_  The demon’s voice was dark and melodious. _“You are an intelligent young man. I am confident that  you can think of something.”_  
  
“There’s nothing,” Tim stated with absolution. “Nothing that I want from you, except for you to disappear.”  
  
Laughter rippled up again to fill Tim’s head, and he winced.  
  
_“Unfortunately, I am quite pleased here. And, unfortunately for you, if I were to leave at this point…”_    
  
Tim raised an eyebrow. “What? What would happen?”  
  
Ra’s sighed, deep and dramatic. _“If we are this connected, do you really think I can be exorcized with no consequence to you? Mr. Todd sealed your fate with the diadem, I’m afraid.”_  
  
Tim’s pulse skittered and he glanced down at Jason, who was sleeping like the dead. Too much like the dead; he was too pale, almost clammy.  
  
Tim frowned. “You can save your manipulating for someone else, Ra’s.”  
  
A thoughtful hum echoed in the back of his head, and it was strange, because Tim could almost feel the shrug that preceded Ra’s speaking _. “You can believe whatever you would like. But you know the truth. You are in the dark here, more than I, and I’m literally a shadow in your thoughts. It will always be like this. You will never be free of me, and they will always be watching you, waiting for you to slip, just so that they have an excuse to shove another man into their inglorious pit.”  
_  
Quiet settled and Tim felt his heart sinking to his stomach. He knew what Ra’s was doing:  trying to get him to take sides, planting seeds of doubt. But there was truth behind what he said, and Tim knew that, too.  
  
“What does the diadem really do?” he asked, quiet enough that he barely even heard the question himself.  
  
Ra’s took his time before answering.  _“It’s an archaic method, really,”_  he stated distastefully.  _“To balance power. For you and I, it was a binding. Surely unintentional from Mr. Todd’s end, but, well, that’s what you get when you play with things you do not understand.”_  
  
Tim stood impeccably still. “A binding?”

_“Mmm. And a powerful one.”_

“You’re lying,” Tim stated, flat-out.

Ra’s sighed heavily.  _“While I can be manipulative, I assure you, Timothy Drake, that I am completely serious. If one of us dies, both of us do. So I highly suggest that you turn down any suggestions that include exorcisms…because the moment that the Wayne family learns that you can communicate with me, that’s exactly what they’ll try.”_  
  
The room was like ice, and Tim shivered. “They wouldn’t kill me.”  
  
Ra’s didn’t say anything, but Tim’s subconscious filled in the blanks. It asked, _Are you really so sure about that?_  
  
Tim felt sick to his stomach.  
  
_“Deep breaths. This situation isn’t as bad as you are making it out to be.”_  
  
Snorting, Tim scraped the back of his palm across his mouth, and then rubbed his face. “For you it’s a field day, I’m sure.”  
  
Ra’s didn’t answer.  
  
“Is there any way to reverse the diadem?”  
  
Tim felt a smile in Ra’s’ words.  _“Of course. But that would mean helping me, would it not?”_  
  
“Helping you do what?”  
  
Again, Ra’s sounded amused.  _“When the time comes, you will know.”_  
  
“And until then, I’m just supposed to trust you?”  
  
_“Of course not. In fact, I’m counting on you not trusting me, young Timothy,_ ” Ra’s pointed out _. “No, no. Until then, you learn.”_  
  
Tim turned against the invisible wall, leaning back against it, and he raised an eyebrow. “Learn what?”  
  
_“The basics,”_  Ra’s said.  _“The rudimentary foundation off of which these fools work. Starting with one of the most simple things: how to get out of a sigil when they have half-heartedly trapped you inside of one.”_  
  
Tim’s eyes flickered to the floor, and he followed the markings as they swirled around him, connecting to various places on the circle that encompassed a good portion of the room. He waited for Ra’s to continue.  
  
_“Every sigil has a weakness in its outermost ring. The more complicated they are, the smaller that weakness is, or the harder it is to find. This little atrocity was done in half the time that it should have been drawn out, so—“_  
  
Tim was already moving towards the head of the bed. He followed the circle that Jason had scribbled with marker, and peered into the foot-wide gap between the bed and the wall.  
  
“It would be back here,” Tim knelt down and rested his elbows on his knees. “Far enough away that it wouldn’t get disturbed if he couldn’t keep me down, right?”  
  
_“Ever the detective, you never cease to surprise me.”_  
  
“Cut the flattery,” Tim replied. “Now what do I do?”  
  
Ra’s was unaffected by his tone, and when he spoke, he seemed pleased.  _“Break it.”_  
  
The line of the circle stared back at Tim, and he rubbed at it with his finger. “Break it? How?” He chipped at it with his thumbnail, but the marker had bled deep into the wood.  
  
_“There is a counter sigil for everything,”_ Ra’s explained.  _“Unfortunately, we’ve got nothing to write with, do we?”_  
  
Tim glanced around them, and saw nothing. He stood up to move towards Jason and, feeling awkward poking through pockets, tried to find the marker he’d used earlier. Instead, he found a small blade, and held it up towards the light from the ceiling, frowning at the engravings on it.  
  
“It’s called an athame,” Ra’s sounded like a textbook bored with its own lecture. “The Chival are never without one. The blade is holy, so if used on the inside of a devil’s trap—“  
  
“They can carve through the circle?” Tim guessed, already heading back to the head of the bed. He leaned down and sank his hand as far back as he could. He placed the tip of the knife on the inside of the marker line, and slowly dragged the blade across it. He expected to hit the wall again, but the athame dug deep enough into the wood that the circle was severed, and a weight he hadn’t even realized was there, lifted.  
  
“Nicely done,” Ra’s commended, and Tim ignored him. He stood up and tested his work, stepping over the line, unconsciously holding his breath until his foot settled safely on the other side.  
  
Then, he was turning and heading back over to Jason, throwing his palm over Jason’s forehead. He was freezing.  
  
_“Just leave him. The world is now your oyster, with appropriate credit to me, of course.”_  
  
“And that’s where we’re different.” Tim stated, struggling to pull Jason into a sitting position. “I don’t leave things, or people, behind.”  
  
Ra’s’ voice lowered.  _“Except your father, that is.”_  
  
Tim felt like he’d been doused in icy water, but managed to play it off, at least to the best of his abilities. After all, Ra’s couldn’t possibly know everything about him, could he?  
  
“Jason, come on,” Tim poked him again, with no results.  
  
_“He’s just exhausted,”_  Ra’s said, after a minute, and Tim replied, “Obviously.”  
  
But even so, he was too cold, and too unresponsive. Whatever he’d needed to do for the diadem, he’d done too much. Tim realized, in this moment, that he was strangely appreciative, even if the outcome wasn’t what either of them had expected.  
  
_“It works like poison,”_  Ra’s was talking again, and Tim was torn between wanting to hear his explanations and wanting him to take a vow of eternal silence.  _“When a human touches demon energy, it seeps inside. And just like any poison, it takes time to get worked out of the system.”_  
  
“Why are you telling me this?”  
  
_“Because you are probably thinking about taking him to a hospital.”_  
  
Tim wasn’t thinking that, which made him feel a slight wave of relief. Ra’s couldn’t read his thoughts—he was probably just incredibly aware.  
  
“They wouldn’t be able to help him?” Tim played it off.  
  
Ra’s snorted.  _“It is a different science, Timothy.”_  
  
So Tim continued on with what he’d originally planned, which was to get Jason into bed, and smother him in blankets.  
  
While he had some muscle on him, moving the dead weight that was Jason Todd was a feat. It took a lot of scrambling, propping, and a couple of thumps that Tim was grateful Jason wouldn’t remember later. And when Jason was settled, Tim put the athame back into his pocket, much to the admonition of Ra’s, who claimed that he was a fool to let it out of his sight.  
  
Tim had merely rolled his eyes and did his best to make sure that Jason seemed comfortable, and as the minutes passed, he began to realize just how tired he was.  
  
He tapped off the bedside light and crawled into bed with Jason, watching him for a long time from the farthest edge of the bed until Ra’s finally quieted and sleep came.  
  
***  
  
Jason woke like a drowning man, gasping for air and flying forward. His brain was slow on the uptake; it took him a good few seconds to remember where he was at, and to realize that he was in a bed—a hard bed, with scratchy blankets. His mind immediately went to Tim, and his eyes darted around the room, only to pause when he realized that the person he was looking for was right beside him.

 Tim was asleep. Not like he’d been at the other hotel: out like a light. No, this time, he was obviously dreaming, his fingers twitching against the comforter, and Jason noticed, with confusion, that Tim was on top of the bedding.

 Raising an eyebrow speculatively, Jason reached out and placed his hand over Tim’s, expecting him to be hot. If anything, he was cold, and Jason frowned, remembering more from the night before.

  _“Don’t touch me_.” Tim had said. It could have meant anything, really. That he had personal bubble issues, which Jason figured made sense, but there had been something about the way that Tim had looked at him—about the way he’d grabbed Jason’s wrists to hold him at bay.

 What did Jason know about Tim, anyway? When he thought about it, he realized that the answer was very little. Luckily, it seemed like Tim thought he knew more, so that’s how he played it off.

 But when Bruce had asked Dick about him, Dick hadn’t said a word. Except for the fact that Tim had a certain psychic affinity, but that was completely relevant. Jason had always guessed that something had happened to his parents, but hell, something had happened to his, too.

 But the look in Tim’s eyes… _”I didn’t kill her.”_

What the hell had that been about?

 Jason was rubbing his face when Tim rolled onto his stomach, and he peered over through split fingers. He stared for a minute, realizing that he hadn’t really _looked_  at Tim the night previous—well, he’d looked into his eyes, for sure, but he’d never really taken him in, and now it seemed relevant because Tim was this big mystery, and he was always hidden beneath layers of clothes.

 But now…he looked pretty normal. Which was bizarre, because Jason knew how smart he was, and how powerful his kind of genius, combined with psychometry, could be. Looking at him, Jason had the sudden realization that Tim was young—younger than him, and of course he had  _known_  that, but it was so much more obvious now that Tim wasn’t being…well, intelligent.

 No, now it was obvious that his walls were down. And Jason had  _seen_  walls—hell, he lived with Damian—but it was different seeing it on another person. Those rare moments of vulnerability…Jason wondered if he had any, himself. He supposed he did, but mostly, he’d dealt with what had happened to him when he was younger. Plus, Bruce had found him.

 If something  _had_  happened to Tim’s parents, who had he turned to? Dick? That’s what Jason had managed to guess, so far, but that didn’t make sense, either. Tim had still been a minor when Dick had known him…and he sure as hell hadn’t  _adopted_  him, so how did the pieces fit?

 “You’re the detective,” Jason said to Tim. “You tell me.”

 But Tim was still sleeping, and Jason didn’t  _really_  want to wake him, even though the itch had returned to get back to Gotham as soon as possible. Too much had happened, and one night away was a long time. Enough time for something  _else_  to happen, and he didn’t know how to prepare for something worse than the worst.

 Jason slid out from under the covers and landed on the floor. He felt like he’d run a marathon and tossed another glance at Tim, wondering for the umpteenth time how it was possible for one human to hold something like  _Ra’s Al Ghul_.

It was strange. Scary strange.

“All right,” Jason said to himself, and he paced over to Tim’s side of the bed and dug out the blade he always kept on him, hunching down and deeming it safe to break the sigil.

He leaned forward, and froze.

He dropped down lower and shifted, helping move his shadow from his line of sight. And there, in the wood, was a perfect scrape—just enough to break the sigil. Jason leaned back and looked up at Tim, his eyes narrowing.

Slowly, he stood up and stepped outside of the sigil, confirming to himself that yes, it was broken. And this time, as he looked at Tim, he couldn’t quite see the innocence he’d seen before.

He pocketed his knife and shook Tim awake, and blearily, Tim came alive. “What…?” He rubbed his eyes, and Jason glanced towards the back of the bedand bit his tongue.

“Get dressed. We’ve got a lot of road to cover.”

He didn’t miss the look that Tim gave him, one where all of his walls were instantly back, and like Jason had never been allowed in.

He had been though. And now he wanted to know who Tim was trying to convince himself he hadn’t killed.

 ***

Gotham was a dark ending to a gray-shaded road trip, where Tim spent most of the time pretending he was staring out the window, and the other half worrying about Dick and trying to figure out why Jason was suddenly distant.

He tried to think back, wondering what he could have done—did it have to do with what he’d said? What he’d remembered?

Tim was anxious to get out of the car when Jason finally parked, and his body was stiff when he started moving. Beneath the pressure of Ra’s constantly making commentary was the feeling that Jason was the first person he’d let get that close to him in a  _long_  time, and now…this?

Jason didn’t say a word to him as he rounded up the stairs, almost as if he didn’t care if Tim followed, or as though he expected him to. Tim did because he had nowhere else to go, and was pretty sure that if he made a run for it, he wouldn’t get far.

Plus, he was worried about Dick.

The butler named Alfred almost seemed to be waiting for them, and he gave Tim a kind smile that he didn’t quite feel like he deserved. Especially when Ra’s said, _“That man will live to be as old as I am, I swear.”_

Once they were inside, Jason turned on him, sternly. “You, stay here,” he said, and he turned back around and disappeared up the master stairwell of Wayne Manor.

Alfred frowned. “Did the diadem not work as expected?”

Tim, ever practiced in the art of lying, though not too proud of his honed skills, shrugged. “I don’t feel out of control anymore.”

After watching him a moment longer, Alfred sighed. “Well, regardless of where Master Todd wants you to stay, I don’t like guests lingering in the foyer. Are you hungry?”

Tim was still staring at the staircase when he realized that Alfred was being gracious, and after a second, he shook his head. “No, thank you. Actually, I’m really tired.”

“To your room then,” Alfred declared, and motioned for Tim to follow him upstairs.

 _“I can feel him_.”

“Who?” Tim asked, without thinking about it.

Alfred glanced over his shoulder and asked, “What?”

Tim shook his head quickly and waved it off. “Nothing, nothing.”

Not making much of it, Alfred turned back around and continued on, and Tim’s shoulders sank. From inside of his mind, Ra’s snorted.

_“My grandson. He is close by.”_

Tim didn’t know what to make of his tone, and of course, he couldn’t ask. He wasn’t sure if he  _wanted_  to ask, because he preferred as little contact with Ra’s as possible. It would be too easy to be lured into a false sense of brotherhood, and Tim knew that.

Ra’s was dangerous.

“Here we are.” Alfred led him into the same room he’d been in before, and asked once more if Tim wanted anything. Once more Tim turned down the offer, and when Alfred left, he closed the door behind him.

The sigil was still on the floor.

It felt like days since Tim had seen it.

 _“Have you memorized what it looks like, yet?”_ Ra’s asked, and Tim scowled.

“No. Should I?”

_“It could be helpful, considering your problem.”_

Hearing Ra’s Al Ghul call his ability a  _problem_  sparked some life back into his anxiety driven mood.

“I don’t have a problem.”

_“You think it’s a gift, then.”_

“I don’t think that, either,” Tim replied, and he headed towards his bed and dropped his backpack beside it, his head tipping back in frustration when his phone skittered out across the floor.

Begrudgingly, he wandered over to grab it, knowing it had long since powered off since he hadn’t had an opportunity to charge it.

_“Well, if it is not a problem, and not a gift, what is it?”_

“It’s just what I am,” Tim replied. “Are you going somewhere with this or do you just like hearing yourself talk?”

Ra’s almost laughed, which made Tim feel even more annoyed.

 _“I was just wondering if you haveve ever tried to figure out_ why _you might be able to do what you are able to do.”_

“Would knowing change what I’ve been through?” Tim asked as he rifled through his bag for his phone charger.

 _“Probably not_ ,” Ra’s replied, and Tim finally found his charger and yanked it out.

“Then it’s kind of a moot point, don’t you think?”

Ra’s fell silent for a while, and Tim was grateful. He found an open outlet in the corner of the room to plug his phone in and sat down next to it, waiting until it had enough power to turn on.

When it did, he was surprised to see quite a few messages, some from Con and others from his boss, Kori.

Conner’s were simple, and worried. There was a little bit of anger in them too, which Tim couldn’t really do anything about. He replied as best he could, and moved on to Kori, who was going against the books by telling him to be on high alert inGotham, because some bizarre casework was streaming in.

It was really an invite for him to come back and investigate; Tim could tell by the way she emphasized how strange everything was. She mentioned something about serial murders, probably cult related, with victims who may have been poisoned, and had strange markings on their hands.

Tim read that line a few times and breathed deeply, wondering what she’d think if she knew he was practically  _involved_  with the case. His thoughts drifted to his apartment, and he wondered if what Jason had promised was true—that everything had been cleaned up.

And now that he thought about it, it had been stupid to run. What was someone going to do, bleach the carpet? Worst trick in the book. Easiest way to look guilty.

But he’d trusted Jason, and he’d gone with him.

And now look at where he was; in a dark corner of a room that made him feel uncomfortable in all its grandeur, without a single person he felt he could depend on.

“Not that  _that’s_  new,” Tim said to himself, but really, he knew that he had walls, and that he just didn’t  _let_  anyone in.

There was a knock on his door and he made no move to get it, or even answer. It opened regardless, and Tim’s breath caught when he saw that it was Dick, and damn—

“Dick?”

Tim was pushing himself up before he knew it, and Dick closed the door behind him. Tim’s heart was pounding when he saw Dick’s face.

He looked normal.  _Too_  normal. Too much like the Dick that Tim had left behind, and not enough like something intense had happened.

“Hey,” Dick smiled, and Tim shook his head, not wanting false modesty at all.

“What happened?”

Dick avoided looking him in the eye, and Tim, being as forward as he was willing to risk, said, “I know about the bond. With Damian. And that it got broken. I guess…I don’t really know what that means, though.”

Used to reading people’s body language, Tim could tell that Dick wasn’t happy that he knew, but that there was relief there, too. But also something else…

“Did the diadem work?” Dick asked him, changing the subject. Tim watched as Dick took a few steps towards his bed and sat down on the edge.

“I guess,” Tim answered, and then silence stretched between them. It held for a long time, long enough for Tim to look at the clock, and long enough for Tim to realize that Dick felt it too, but didn’t want to leave.

“I don’t know why he did it,” Dick finally said, and he was suddenly leaning forward, clutching his head in his hands and gritting his teeth. “It just doesn’t make sense.”

Tim stood still, feeling his chest rise and fall, knowing that this was Dick, crashing.

“That book—it doesn’t tell you how the binding works, just what it does. And God, when I had to come back here for him, and just  _left_  you…I  _had_  to, and I couldn’t tell you—“

“You don’t have to apologize,” Tim interrupted, wondering what he had to do with all of this. “I forgave you a long time ago. You were an older brother to me when I needed family the most, and I survived without you. So really, don’t worry about it.”

Dick looked up at him, dragging his hands down his cheeks miserably. “I know. I don’t deserve that, but I know.”

“What happened?” Tim tried again, trying to get Dick back on topic.

And Dick looked at him briefly before his eyes fell closed, and he wore his heart on his sleeve, like always.

“When the bond is gone, things are supposed to change.  _Everything’s_  supposed to change—or that’s what he thought. I don’t even know what Damian was thinking because  _nothing’s_  changed.”

Tim stared at Dick and shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Dick.”

“I can't lose him.” Dick met eyes with Tim. “I promised I would always protect him. I can't let this be the end.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tim should have told Jason....


	13. Chapter 13

"So protect him," Tim stated.

"It's not that easy," Dick replied, honest. "He _needs_ the diadem. He's...his demon is centuries old, but Damian is young. He's just...trying to protect _me_ , I think..."

 _“Ugh.”_ Ra's sounded appalled. _  
_

Tim frowned, but if Ra’s had a grave, he knew the demon would be rolling over in it.

Tim shook his head, trying to drown out the white noise that was Ra’s’ voice. He wanted to say something else, but he couldn’t think of what. His stomach was filled with lead, because he could see the pain in Dick’s eyes, and it wasn’t an expression that he liked.

Worry was apparently painted on Tim’s face, because Dick idly lured the subject of their conversation elsewhere.

“A lot of the wards here are strong because they’re sealed with human  _and_ demon blood,” he stated. “Damian’s blood. But now that the seal is broken, the diadem’s messed up, and they’re not working like they should. I think that Bruce and Jason are brainstorming how to fix it.”

Not that Tim minded, but it seemed unusual that Dick was so prone to divulge things to him—little facts and details that were probably secrets of his trade. He was also smart enough to know that the way Dick was eyeing him—well, it was the way he’d always looked at him before asking a favor.

Dick wet his lips and scraped his bangs behind his ears, said, “I’d never really ask anything of you if I knew it would put you in danger, but—“

_“He thinks that you can re-set the wards because of my power.”_

“—there’s always a chance that you might be able to—“

Tim interjected, feeling goose bumps rise on his skin at the thought. “I really don’t think that Bruce or Jason wants Ra’s’ power fed into everything you’ve worked so hard to build.”

Everything about Dick seemed to collapse; he slumped forward, breathed deeply, and rubbed his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Tim sympathized, as best as he could.

“No, no…you’re right. I just…nevermind.”

A clock ticked from the other side of the room, and Tim asked, “Have you seen Jason since we got back?”

Seemingly surprised by the question, Dick raised an eyebrow. “Briefly. Are you sure that everything went well with the diadem?”

A sinking feeling settled in Tim’s stomach, but he played it off. “I’m not really sure what happens when it goes wrong, so…” and then he shrugged.

“Yeah,” Dick looked like he understood that, and then he added, “Jason looked like you took a lot out of him.”

Tim was quiet, remembering things he wasn’t sure he wanted to remember, like the feel of Jason’s fingers against his skin, and the depths of his eyes when they were only inches apart. And the way that Jason had looked at him when—

“Dick, did you tell anyone about my parents?”

Wide-eyed, Dick shook his head. “It’s no one else’s business. I told you that a long time ago.”

Tim opened his mouth. Almost on impulse, he wanted to tell Dick that the memories were back—that he’d seen them again, and that he was afraid they’d haunt him like before. But as quickly as the urge had come, he suppressed it, and drew his lips together.

“What?” Dick asked.

Tim shook his head. “Nothing.”

He thought he heard a distant voice in his mind, definitely Ra’s’, but quiet, say,  _…just like me…never trust anyone…’_

Tim shook his head and stood up suddenly, feeling antsy and not wanting to be alone with his own thoughts.

“I’m sorry about what happened. If there’s anything I can do…”

Dick stood up too and all of the emotion came back to his face as he waved Tim off. He wandered towards the door, and when his hand closed around the knob, he tipped his head back, his eyes glossy. “You know…he won’t even let me see him. After everything we’ve been through, and…I can’t even get near him. It’s like he’s  _still_  up to something, even now.”

Tim watched him, resisting the urge to say something as generic as  _I’m sorry_ because he knew that it wouldn’t do any good. Dick shook his head and left, and when the door to Tim’s room closed again, Ra’s came to life.

_“We could fix those wards, you know.”_

“I don’t trust you to fix anything here,” Tim replied honestly.

 _“As smart as you are—you have not pieced things together? The demon that attacked you at your apartment—do you honestly think it was working alone? It does not work that way, Timothy. There will be more, and they_ will _come here.”_

Tim frowned and paced his room. “Ra’s—“

 _“They’re not after you,”_ the demon stated, and he sounded angry.  _“And seeing as to how I have no desire to be thrust back into the pit, I see no choice but to defend myself by the only means available to me. Currently, you are that means.”_

“Please,” Tim rolled his eyes, and he could feel Ra’s temper flaring, which was a strange and heated sensation in the back of his mind.

 _“When the time comes, these people will not protect you,”_  he announced.  _“You are going to have to learn how to protect yourself from them.”_

Tim paused, mid-step, and whirled around, frustrated. “And how do you suggest I go volunteer myself to fix sigils I know  _nothing_  about?”

 _“You don’t ask, you just_ do. _”_

“Famous last words,” Tim snorted.

_“Tell Richard that you have changed your mind. He will show you.”_

Tim wasn’t sure why that idea sounded so much like deceit.

_“Richard wants to protect his family. You want to protect him. I want to protect you, since, at the moment, you are the closest thing I’ve got to a body.”_

“At the moment?” Tim raised an eyebrow, and Ra’s answered with irritation.

_“The future will be much brighter for the both of us once the diadem in broken.”_

“I don’t really trust you not to kill me,” Tim stalked over to his backpack, and idly muttered, “No offense.”

 _“I_ cannot _kill you,”_  Ra’s snapped, and there was enough venom in the admission that Tim stopped cold.  _“But if more of the League comes looking for you, I won’t be able to protect you, either. And that means a certain death for_ both  _of us.”_

“The League?” Tim’s interest peaked. “What’s that?”

_“Nothing you need to worry about—“_

“It  _sounds_  like something that I need to worry about.”

_“—until you’ve decided to take my advice.”_

Tim pursed his lips and dropped his bag. He looked down at his hands, well, his gloves, and went towards his door.

 _“They are not on your side, Timothy.”_  Ra’s said.

“Neither are you,” Tim shot back, and he yanked open his door, and stumbled back when Jason stalked past. At first, Tim wondered if he’d heard anything, but Jason didn’t even look at him; he just kept walking, like he had a lot on his mind, and some place that he needed to be.

 _“Don’t do something stupid_ ,” Ra’s could sense that Tim was upset, but his warning didn’t stop Tim from calling out Jason’s name.

Abruptly, Jason turned around. His eyes were hard and agitated.

Tim stepped out into the hallway, letting his door slip closed behind him, feeling a sense of dread that he forced himself to swallow down.

“What?” Jason snapped, impatient.

Tim frowned. “I wanted to talk with you.”

And really, he did. As much as he knew that Ra’s was right—that the fact he could _hear_  the demon and have  _conversations_  with him didn’t make him seem any more worth saving, he didn’t know what to do. Who to believe. And he’d trusted Jason somewhat blindly so far, and he  _wanted_  to trust him more, and damn that feeling because there were so few people that he felt like he  _could_  trust.

“I’m busy,” Jason gave him a brief look, and then whipped around, off to do whatever he’d been planning on doing.

“It’s important,” Tim stated, wanting to test whether or not Jason was avoiding him, or if he was just stressed. He hoped it was the latter, because he wasn’t sure what he’d done wrong, and the fact he’d said something about  _her_ , about his _mother…_

“Tim,” Jason stopped and only turned around halfway, “Just stop. You’re  _not_  on my list of priorities right now.”

Unsure of what exactly that meant, Tim shook his head. “Dick said that I might be able to help with the wards—“ and Tim stopped talking, because something like fury flickered in Jason’s eyes and he was suddenly storming back.

“Don’t you go  _near_  anything in this house,” Jason pointed a finger at him, and Tim unconsciously backed up a step.

“Whoa, whoa,” Dick rounded the corner with two mugs of coffee in his hand, and Tim knew almost right away that the second was for him. “What’s going on?”

“If he is twenty feet from the wards, he’s  _too_  close, got it?” Jason eyed Dick long enough to be awarded an obliging nod. And then Jason was rerouting his attention to Tim.

“Stay in your room and out of our way—“

Tim interrupted with, “Does this have to do with last night?” He kept seeing it in his mind, replaying, rewinding, replaying. When he’d looked Jason in the eyes and said,  _“I didn’t kill her.”_

“What do you think?” Jason raised an eyebrow at him before he decided that their conversation was over, and disappeared around the corner, narrowly avoiding Dick in his hasty departure.

“I uh…brought you coffee,” Dick said, but Tim barely heard him over Ra’s murmuring,  _“I told you so.”_

“No thank you,” Tim backed up into the door of his room, knowing that this was one of the rare moments in his life where he was wearing his emotions in plain sight, and he fumbled for the handle of the door, his own fears and anxieties drowning out whatever Dick was trying to say to him, and he locked himself inside.

***

Alfred came sometime in the evening to bring Tim dinner, and Tim reluctantly took in the meal. He didn’t eat much from and ended up sitting against the wall in the farthest corner of the room, knees drawn to his chest as he debated on what to do.

“I could call Con,” Tim said, but when Ra’s thought that was a good idea, he immediately turned it down.

_“You can either stay here and fix the wards yourself, or go someplace new and create wards there. Those are your only options, Timothy.”_

Tim hated  _options_.

 _“There is a certain bit of humor to how our worst fears tend to resurface,”_  Ra’s spelled out, clearly amused,  _“just when we think we’re free of them_.”

“I didn’t kill her.”

_“If you hadn’t played a part, you would not be trying to convince yourself otherwise.”_

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

_“Or maybe I do. You’d be amazed how many doors I can open in your mind when you’re asleep.”_

And Tim pulled his knees closer to his chest, wishing he’d taken that coffee from Dick, after all.

 ***

From the corner of his eye, Jason saw movement. He recognized the walk though and ignored the person who’d come in, and continued to read what he could of the forbidden texts they kept hidden in various places in the library.

It was late, and he hadn’t eaten much, and he wasn’t in a good mood.

“So…” Dick Grayson said, and Jason merely glanced up momentarily in order to give him the recognition that he wanted.

“I’m trying to figure out why  _you’re_  so upset about all of this,” Dick lingered a few feet away, and then came forward, pulling out a chair across from Jason and grabbing a book from the table for himself.

“I already went through that one,” Jason replied, his eyes still skimming the grimoire in his lap. He could sense that Dick was just staring at him, and from his peripheral vision he saw Dick return the book to the pile it had been in, and lean back into his chair.

“I’m not okay,” Dick admitted. “But there don’t need to be two of us losing our grip.”

“Three,” Jason corrected, still reading, and avoiding looking up. “You haven’t seen Damian.”

Quite settled for a minute, and Jason knew that had been below the belt, because Damian wouldn’t let Dick come near him. He didn’t get it; any of it. It didn’t make sense because Dick and Damian had always been this indestructible force of  _something_ , and if it wasn’t love or commitment or just—a  _connection_ , than Jason didn’t know what to make of it.

“I’m going to find a way to fix it,” Jason promised, turning a page, and this time he did look up. “There has to be a way.”

Dick smiled, but there wasn’t much emotion behind it. “If he doesn’t want it, I don’t know if we  _should_  fix it.”

Shaking his head, Jason’s eyes flickered back down to the text in his lap. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Picking up another book, Dick was quiet a moment, and after he flipped open the cover, he said, “I don’t like the way you’re acting towards Tim.”

“While I realize that you two have some mysterious past,” Jason’s tone was anything but accommodating, “you can’t trust him.”

“Tim’s the only person outside of this household that I’d trust with my life,” Dick pointed out. “Even if he  _does_  have Ra’s inside of him.”

Jason scowled and glanced up again, shooting a very even stare Dick’s way.

“Do you know what he kept repeating last night?” he questioned. “ _I didn’t kill her. I didn’t kill her_. So tell me, Dick, who’s he talking about?”

Not expecting that, Dick’s eyes widened, and then slowly shook his head, half smiling. “Is that what’s got you worked up? Jason, it’s not what you think.”

“What I  _think_  is that I don’t know anything about him,” growling, Jason slammed his book shut. “I don’t know what he’s thinking, I don’t know how the diadem’s affecting him, and I don’t know how much control he’s  _really_  got, especially if he’s  _killed_  someone—“

“He didn’t kill anyone,” Dick interrupted, with such seriousness that Jason huffed, sat back, and chewed on his lower lip.

“I can’t tell you what happened back then, because it’s not my place. So you’re just going to have to trust me. After everything that Tim’s been through, I’m amazed that he even…” Dick trailed off, and then his brows furrowed. He leaned forward, and gave Jason a look. “Wait, why are you so stuck on him? You’re not like this with Damian, and you definitely didn’t treat Talia this way.”

Rolling his eyes, Jason shifted in his seat. “Don’t bring her into this. It’s not even the same.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Jason snapped, “I’m sure. I’m sure that I learned my lesson the first time around, and that trusting  _anyone_  outside of this already dysfunctional family is a one way ticket to hell, no soul guaranteed on the return flight.”

They stared at each other for a minute, and as Jason calmed, his shoulders slumped. “I’ve just got this feeling, Dick. A really bad feeling.”

“For what it’s worth,” Dick released a puff of air, deep in his thoughts. “Tim trusts you. And believe it or not, he barely trusts me.”

Jason raised an eyebrow at the admission, but Dick was already thumbing through the book he’d picked up.

***

Tim felt it before he knew what it was. It startled him out of a half-sleep, and was followed by Ra’s’ raspy voice, urging him to get up.

_“Timothy!”_

Tim lifted his head from his knees; he’d fallen asleep sitting by the far wall of his room, and his neck was sore from being in one position too long.

 _“Timothy, you_ need _to find it.”_

“What?”

_“Find it!”_

Tim stumbled to his feet warily, confused. “Find what?”

A feeling like distant fire burned at the edge of his mind, and at once, the smell of sulfur seemed to seep in around him. He covered his nose and his eyes watered.

“Ugh,” he blinked past the sudden onslaught of tears, and then Ra’s was yelling at him.

_“Timothy Drake, find the source NOW!”_

And so Tim was moving, throwing open his door as adrenaline surged through him, stumbling down the half-lit hallway beyond his room, a blind man relying on his sense of smell.

“I have no idea—“

 _“Damian_.” Ra’s stated, and Tim felt a chill race through him, feeling a little ridiculous not having connected the dots before. Of course, he should have known. The smell—he’d experienced it before, and it had led him straight to the sigil that Damian had made—the one that broke he and Dick’s bond.

Jogging forward, Tim retraced his steps from the first time he’d wandered around, thanking his impeccable memory for times like these. When he got to Damian’s door he grabbed the handle, but it was locked from the inside.

“Uh…” Tim looked around, trying to find something that would help him break in. Ra’s seemed to have other ideas, and demanded that Tim focus as hard as he could on the palm of his hand, covering the doorknob.

“I’m not really sure what good that will do,” Tim said, but Ra’s snapped at him to just do it. Surprisingly, when he focused hard enough, he could feel Ra’s energy flood through him and when he pressed forward, the door snapped inward off its hinges.

He stepped back, surprised, and when the energy faded back to where it had come from, it left him feeling cold.

 _“Stop him_ ,” Ra’s demanded, and when Tim walked into the room, Damian was already staring in his direction, looking at the doorframe with an expression that crossed horror and awe.

“How did you get in here?”

“Uh…” Tim looked up at the doorframe and then back to Damian. He decided to ignore the question. “What are you doing?”

Tim saw markings on the floor beneath him, glowing, and Damian stepped protectively over them.

“If you don’t leave now, I’ll kill you.”

Tim straightened himself and Ra’s said,  _“Stupid child—that type of spell, it will draw things closer. The League will sense it, Timothy .”_

“While I don’t doubt you,” Tim said, carefully stepping further into the room, his hands held up offensively, “there’s something inside of me that wants you to stop whatever it is that you’re doing.”

Damian stared at him, and Tim watched the fizzing lights from the floor light up his face. It was easier to tell how different he looked from what Tim had remembered. He’d once been a flame, flickering with something untamed, and now, he just looked livid and miserable.

“It doesn’t have anything to do with you,” Damian snarled at him, and from inside of his head, Ra’s spoke.

_“Find a something sharp—a knife—anything. Can you tell where the sigil’s weakness is?”_

Tim felt his skin prickle with anxiety as his eyes darted to the floor, looking hard, and only seeing shapes. He shook his head and bit his lip, feeling Ra’s desperation filling him.

 _“Look harder. Focus_.”

So Tim took a deep breath and  _really_ looked at it, and Damian watched him, and then looked down at his sigil, and then, somewhat panicked, he asked, “What are you doing?”

But something in Tim’s mind just seemed to connect, and he knew exactly where to break it. He was moving before he knew it, and Damian just backed out of his way, so caught off guard that Tim was able to snatch a knife from his dresser, drop to the floor, and scratch through his line work.

“I said I’d kill you,” Damian finally jolted out of his momentary shock, and Tim tumbled backwards when Damian came crashing into him, a fury of limbs and curses.

Tim was flat on his back when Damian’s hand came towards his throat, and he caught the teenager’s eyes just before contact, and Damian seemed to realize what was going to happen, but it was too late.

When Damian’s fingers touched Tim’s throat, he clawed at Damian’s arm and despite all the years he’d struggled to control his psychometry—this was simply too much, too fast, and he screamed.

Worse than that, Damian couldn’t seem to pull away.

And so Tim felt his back arch upward and tasted the coppery tang of blood in his mouth—he’d probably bit his lip or tongue, and blackness swept through him, consuming him, only blotted out occasionally by the briefest flicker of an image—the slightest hints of memories, each with Dick’s face.

_“Tim—“_

Ra’s’ voice was devoured by others; ones from Damian’s memories, jumbled. Of course, Tim recognized Dick’s.

_‘We just have to wait—‘_

And Damian countering with,  _‘You always want to wait. If you don’t want to, just say so.’_

And then Dick’s voice, muffled, like Damian had heard it from outside of a doorway, like he’d stumbled upon a conversation he wasn’t meant to hear:

_‘I just wonder if...the bond was really the best idea.’_

And then there were images of Tim—from the first time they’d met in the coffee shop, and then Damian must have been looking at Dick because Dick looked so _happy_  to see him, and then there was another flash, and Damian was demanding Dick to tell him about Tim, and who he was, and Dick, ever the valiant friend that took secrets to the grave, admitted that he couldn’t—

Tim sucked in a breath of air and hadn’t realized that he’d stopped breathing until Damian was raked off of him, and suddenly he was rolling onto his side, coughing like a drowned man.

_“Timothy—“_

But that black feeling was still inside of him, sweeping through him, so similar to what he felt with Ra’s power but so incredibly different at the same time.

“Tim!” A voice called out to him, but Tim was blinking, and his vision was dappled with black, and he felt cold tendrils curling under his skin, and then—“

“Tim!”

And Tim blinked, and breathed, and he could see, and he was looking around, panicked, but Jason was in front of him, and tearing glances back and forth from him and Damian until he finally shouted at Damian, “What the hell was that?”

And Tim waited for it—waited for Damian to say he’d ripped the door out of the wall, and to admit that he’d broken the circle, and for everyone to look at Tim and wonder  _how_  and ask questions, and for everything to crash and burn around him.

Tim was shaking; going through some type of shock, and he still felt Damian in his mind—or whatever it was, lurking in the shadows and slowly trailing into him, and it was terrifying, because he couldn’t tell if the feeling was disappearing, or if the energy was just  _blending_.

“Don’t tell Dick,” Damian’s rage had vanished, and he backed up over the markings he’d made on the floor, and didn’t say a word about anything else. “I just wanted to…”

Tim couldn’t see the look that Jason gave the younger boy or the markings on the floor, but it was enough to silence him.

At least until he asked, again, “Please don’t tell Dick.”

“I’m telling Bruce,” Jason announced, thickly, and Damian sank back, and for the first time since Tim had known Damian, he felt sorry for him. Which was strange, because Damian was this unstoppable force, uncontrollable and uncontained.

And now, he just looked broken.

“Come on,” Jason hauled Tim up, and Tim looked at Damian, trying to read him, to know  _why_  he hadn’t said anything, even though it seemed obvious that whatever Tim had done was the last thing on his mind.

Once into the hallway, Tim shook his head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean too—I just, I sensed it, like with the other one and I just  _went_  and—“

“Stop,” Jason pushed Tim backwards, enough so that he hit the wall. Jason’s hands went to either side of him, trapping him there, and when they met eyes, Tim felt his stomach tighten.

“Just stop,” Jason repeated, and he looked tired. Tim could feel his heart pounding, waiting for Jason to say something else. They were so close, again, and when Jason finally moved, it was to tip Tim’s head sideways and get a look at the damage Damian had done.

Swallowing was hard. Tim’s throat was tight.  He felt hot, and nervous, and when Jason’s finger trailed down to what he was sure was a bruise, Tim panicked and dipped beneath his other hand, escaping the cage that Jason had hoped would hold him captive.

He was breathing hard, and Jason was watching him, a strange look on his face. And then, it disappeared, and Jason looked like he always did, guarded.

“Whatever you saw—“

“I didn’t see anything.”

Jason’s eyebrows dipped inward, and Tim corrected himself. “I mean, I did, but I won’t tell. And I didn’t even see that much, there was just…just this _blackness_ …”

He realized he was rambling, which he hardly ever did, and Jason seemed to notice too, and looked disbelieving and distrustful.

Tim turned to go back to his room, and was startled when Jason said his name. When he turned, Jason was looking at him— _really_  looking at him, still leaning forward against the wall.

“You wouldn’t keep anything important from me, would you?” He looked so honest, like he didn’t even trust himself to ask the question. It didn’t even seem like the type of question Jason would ask. Jason, the man who had as many walls as Tim, and barely seemed to trust his own family. And now there was something in his eyes, like…like he was giving Tim a chance?

A chance for  _what_?

_“If you tell them that you can communicate with me, they will kill you. Just like they killed me.”_

Heart pounding in his chest, Tim let the familiar coldness of self-preservation seep through him, and said, with a practiced calmness, “No.”

He could feel Jason watching him as he slipped backwards into the shadows, searching blindly for him room, every inch of him aching under the weight of dishonesty. And why did it matter? It wasn’t the first time he’d said something that wasn’t true—so why did it matter so much now?

He didn’t hear when Jason whispered, sadly, “Liar.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UGH TIM SHOULD HAVE JUST TOLD HIM


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the part where I apologize for disappearing for three months. Truth be told, I had a lot going on. Minor health stuffs, moved into a house, had three people out of work (there are only ten of us), went out of state for holidays, and topped of the new year by being in the ER with a kidney stone. Boo.
> 
>  
> 
> I am truly dedicated to this story, and hopefully, with my writing mood back and other things settled, I’ll be able to update as consistently as I was before I took my mini hiatus. I’m very sorry though, and I’m very appreciative of all the readers that messaged me to check in.

_“You made the right choice by not telling him,”_ Ra’s said, and Tim rolled his eyes. He was used to being evasive with people, and a lot of the time, that meant lying. He had a lot to hide, and both his abilities and job required a great deal of secrecy. But lying to Jason weighed him down, and made him feel guilty. He wanted to trust him – hell, he wanted to trust Dick – but he felt like a piece of debris washed away with a storm, alone with no answers.  
  
“What was Damian trying to do?” Tim took to leaning against his bed, and stared at the curtains drawn over his bedroom’s windows, wondering half-heartedly how many stars he might be able to see this far from the city.  
  
Ra’s released what sounded like a sigh. _“To fix what he’s ruined, I’d imagine.”_  
  
Tim felt a little sad, hearing that, and he wandered towards the window and pulled one of the hefty velvet curtains to the side. He couldn’t see any stars, just darkness. Somehow, he wasn’t surprised.  
  
When Ra’s words sank in, Tim frowned, and stalked back towards his bed. “Why did you have me stop it? Dick and Damian _need_ the bond, don’t they?”  
  
_“They do,”_ Ra’s said cautiously, _“but Damian is young, and tethered to a human all for the sake of having a soul. Bruce Wayne ruined him a long time ago, and he will never be as powerful as he could have been.”_  
  
Tim raised an eyebrow. “So he could have killed himself trying to do whatever he was doing, and you saved his life?”  
  
The comment hit home, even if Ra’s scoffed. _“I saved_ us,” came his staunch reply. _“And I suppose I did my grandson a favor as well.”_ Tim wondered if Ra’s spoke from a sense of duty, or if he really did care about Damian’s wellbeing. The detective in Tim was itching to ask how Ra’s was the kid’s grandfather in the first place, but Ra’s, apparently in a chatty mood, rambled on.  
  
_“Whether or not he succeeded isn’t important. If he had lived through it, or died, is irrelevant. The point, Timothy, is that he dispelled enough energy to draw unwanted attention. You may want to rethink your stubborn refusal to repair the wards here. You think yourself heroic when you are, in fact, being quite stupid.”_  
  
Tim shook his head and slid to the floor, sitting against his bed. He tipped his head back to rest against the bedding, and didn’t bother trying to hide his annoyance. “I don’t trust you.”  
  
_“Which would matter, if anyone in this household trusted you. Listen to your instincts, instead of your pride.”_  
  
Tim closed his eyes and thought about it, aggravated that he was even humoring the thing inside of him. But he let the quiet of the room sink in, and felt something he’d either overlooked before, or hadn’t entertained, and it was the smallest feeling that something was wrong. In fact, it was the same feeling he’d had at the first hotel with Jason, that invisible eyes were seeking him out.  
  
He huffed in annoyance. “I feel like there’s something out there. But in my experience, there’s _always_ something out there.”  
  
_“This is different, and you know that. You can feel it. It’s not typical mortal danger, wrought by fate. There’s something after me, and you’ll be a damn fool to think that your life will be spared just because you think you’re innocent in all of this. The only thing demons want with innocence is to ruin it.”_  
  
“Are you trying to ruin me?” Tim asked, seriously.  
  
_“I would love to,”_ Ra’s almost whispered. _“There’s so much of you that’s tainted, but still, you remain pure of heart. You were made to be broken, Timothy, but not by me. We are connected, you and I, whether we want to be, or not. And so, no, I am not trying to ruin you. I’m trying to prepare you, so that when the real demons come, you have a chance at surviving.”_  
  
Tim swallowed and remained quiet.  
  
_“You did well just now,”_ Ra’s pointed out. _“You didn’t need my help at all, breaking the sigil.”_  
  
“What?” Tim questioned, memories of Damian’s drawn handiwork surging forth. Now, remembering, he wasn’t quite sure how he’d figured out how to break the sigil. He’d just…known.  
  
_“I told you that I would teach you.”_  
  
The idea was treacherous.  
  
“I think I’d remember you _teaching_ me things.”  
  
_“I’ve told you before. You’re much more receptive when you’re sleeping. Your mind is my playground,”_ the demon seemed please with his analogy. _“You’ll thank me one day; soon you’ll realize that you know things you’ve never even imagined, and that certain aspects of our bond are heightened.”_  
  
“Certain aspects?” Tim’s heart raced. The ground beneath him was thin ice, and his efforts to tiptoe had already proven dangerous. Now, did Ra’s have even more control of him?  
  
_I don’t feel like I’m losing control,_ he’d told Jason, days ago.  
  
_Not yet_ , Jason had shot back.  
  
_“Panic doesn’t suit you, young detective,”_ Ra’s advised, and sounded like he believed his statement to be true. _“Don’t you remember? You took a door off it’s hinges in your haste, with a small amount of help from me. You’re adjusting to your power. A power that wants to be used - and it will get easier to manipulate, with time, and an open mind.”_  
  
“I don’t want your demonic power.” Tim hissed.  
  
_“Unfortunately for you, you’ve already got it. You can’t keep it pent up forever.”_  
  
Shaking his head, Tim pushed himself up from the floor and froze.  
  
How he hadn’t heard Damian enter was beyond a mystery. To not hear the sound of feet pacing across the wood flooring - unfathomable. But there Damian stood, staring at him with cool and calculating eyes. Luckily, it didn't seem like he had heard any of what Tim had been saying.  
  
“I saw it,” Damian said to him coldly, and Tim breathed hard raised an eyebrow.  
  
“Saw what?”  
  
“You!” Damian snarled. “I saw you and him. Dick. Your stupid mind trick pulled me in and I saw it!”  
  
Damian was livid; Tim could see anger brimming his eyes, and he noticed that the hands holding him down were shaking. Had he been waiting until Tim was alone to confront him?  
  
“You saw _my_ memories?”  
  
“Don’t go acting all surprised about it,” Damian gritted his teeth. “You knew what you were doing.”  
  
Tim shook his head. “I don’t share my past with anyone -”  
  
“Liar!” Damian spurted, and Tim could only continue shaking his head.  
  
Summoning as much calmness as he could, Tim tried to explain. “I saw into your mind, Damian. I  _never_ give any of my thoughts or memories away. What did you see?”  
  
Damian looked disbelieving, and hurt. “You know what I saw.” The anger was leaving him, slowly, and Tim could feel it. He didn’t say anything; there was nothing he could say. He was completely baffled.  
  
_“It is natural that you would be more susceptible to demons,”_ Ra’s chipped in.  
  
Right, Tim thought. That did make sense. What didn't make sense was _what_ Damian had seen, and why he was so upset about it. Ra's seemed to have insight on that as well.

 _“The bond that Richard and Damian chose to endure is one that seems to make my grandson quite possessive,"_ Ra's sounded minutely amused. " _I believe he has suspected that you and_ _Dick had a relationship of some sort,”_ Ra’s sounded bored. _“And probably fears that Dick cares for you more than he should.”_  
  
Tim felt his eyes widen. A relationship? When Dick had found him, he'd been twelve.  
  
_“Demons are very possessive, Timothy. Never forget that. Damian is no exception.”_  
  
“I'm not sure what you saw," Tim said carefully, "but I'm assuming it had to do with Dick? He was...he took me in, and was like an older brother. I don't...I'm not really sure what you're thinking. Maybe you can see pieces of my memories because you're a demon?"  
  
Damian simply glared at him.  
  
Still curious, Tim asked, “What did you see?”  
  
Tim saw the glint in his eyes too late, and didn’t have time to react before Damian grabbed at the bare skin of his arms. Instead of seeing anything, like he had before, he felt like he was being crushed. Invaded. He felt Damian digging - pressing into him full force, making his head pound, trying to decide for himself if Tim's hypothesis was correct.  
  
“I want to see for myself,” Damian’s voice was saying, though whether it was inside of Tim’s head, or from Damian’s lips, Tim couldn’t tell. “You and Dick. I just want to see.”  
  
At the mention of Dick, the memories came. There was a sharp throbbing as they came into focus, and then, it was like watching snippets of a movie.  
  
‘You didn’t kill your mother,’ Dick was saying, and he was shaking Tim’s shoulders. Tim had believed him, and whenever he thought of Dick, this was the first thought to surface.  
  
Dick’s believing eyes. His determined frown.  
  
And then Tim saw his mother. She had been beautiful, and sweet. She'd comforted him, and told him that his abilities were a gift. She'd made him promise to be careful, to hide them, to not get caught.  
  
Tim had killed her, no matter what Dick had said. Well, he’d gotten her killed, at least. Tim had done what he’d always done at the casino - pretended to be a lost little kid who’d wandered down from his hotel room, feeling around at people, trying to figure out who’d hit it big so he could get the money his father needed.  
  
On this particular night, the men in suits had been waiting. They'd needed the money  _now_. So Tim scrambled through the crowd, looking for anyone who’d struck lucky. He pawed at women’s purses, and waited for their histories to see if they had any cash. He tapped mens’ hands innocently, trying to see if they had any winnings tickets on them, or stacks of cash upstairs.  
  
Tim hadn't been lucky; security had found him. His dad had dragged him upstairs, shoved him into the hotel room's closet - his mom had been sobbing when the men had come; he remembered the sound of her choked breaths.   
  
One of the men had said, "This isn't even half."  
  
Sounds blurred. Voices overlapped. A loud crack - his mother's screams.   
  
His memories, after that, were colors. Blurry images that didn’t make sense. Visions of a father who drank, and looked at him with pity and regret, partnered with the cold feeling of a life that went on in no direction.  
  
And then there was Dick. Of course, at the time, he hadn’t known it was Dick, or that Dick would be the one to save him. Eventually, at least.  
  
‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you.’  
  
Tim had jumped. He’d turned, terrified, pulling his hands away from a woman’s handbag at the convenience store. He hadn’t been doing it for his dad, but for himself. He hadn’t seen his father in days, and he was starving, and a candy bar sounded like heaven.  
  
He turned and swallowed, and eyed the man that had caught him.  
  
The woman in front of him drifted away, unaware of anything that had happened, and Dick, sporting a suit that looked too professional for his boyish features, squatted down. ‘And when you had her money, what were you going to do with it?’  
  
Tim floundered, and then sagged. ‘Get food.’  
  
Obviously not expecting that answer, the expression on the Dick’s face had fallen. ‘Okay. Let’s get you some food.’  
  
And so Dick bought him healthy things, and not the candy bar he’d wanted, but it was food, and he was grateful.  
  
‘If you come back tomorrow at this time, I’ll be here,’ Dick had said to Tim as he’d turned to leave, and Tim felt fear nearly cripple him. What was he doing, trusting a stranger?  
  
It as two weeks until he went back. He’d scrounged until then, and his dad had come back to their dirty little studio briefly, and left him with a twenty to get by until the next time that they saw each other.  
  
Tim saw Dick first, and was too afraid to say anything. He’d stumbled out of his hiding place behind the magazine rack nearly too late, and nearly scared Dick out of his mind.  
  
‘I was worried about you,’ Dick said, and he looked like he meant it. ‘Have you eaten lunch?’  
  
The answer was obviously no, but Tim appreciated that he asked. Swallowing his fear and deciding to trust, Tim had let Dick buy him fast food. They sat inside, and Dick studied him. He asked questions, and Tim thought they were strange.  
  
This happened a few times over the next couple of weeks. But Tim was smart.  
  
‘You’re a cop, aren’t you?’ Tim asked, halfway through chewing a burger.  
  
If Dick was surprised, he didn’t show it. ‘Detective.’  
  
‘You’re looking for my dad, aren’t you?’ It was barely a question. Tim found that he was terrified to hear the answer. The first real friend that he’d had was only after him for his father - not that he was surprised. Just disappointed.  
  
But Dick had surprised him.  
  
‘I’m more worried about you. Are you living alone?’  
  
Tim had finished his burger and wiped his lips handily with a napkin. He slid from his chair and gave Dick an even glare. ‘Thank you for the food.’  
  
And then he turned to leave.  
  
Dick nearly toppled over himself attempting to throw their garbage away, and chase Tim outside.  
  
‘Your dad’s in trouble, Tim,’ Dick said. ‘But you’re smart. You know that. You’d be safer telling me where you live, and coming to stay with me for a while.’  
  
Tim whirled around. ‘Turn my dad in?’  
  
Dick looked guilty, but his mien changed when he remembered his intentions. ‘It’s the right thing to do.’  
  
Tim looked down at his gloved hands and shook his head. ‘You don’t know the right thing for me,’ he’d said, and then he’d taken off. As much as Dick was taller, he couldn’t match the skinny kid’s agility, and Tim had escaped.  
  
He hadn’t left the studio for a week. Afraid he’d be spotted, fearful of being watched. He knew he was all that his dad had left, and was loyal. He’d always been loyal.  
  
And one day, his dad had come home.  
  
‘One more time,’ his dad had said. ‘Just a bit more money, Tim. Remember your mother? You have to do this. For _us.’_ He’d handed Tim a slip of paper with an address on it.  
  
The memory was so vivid and painful-the look in his dad’s eyes so intent, that Tim felt the pain from it tenfold. Ra’s voice swam to his conscious mind and was a fury of a power storm, and before Tim knew what was happening, Damian flew off of him with such force that Damian he slammed into the door.  
  
The memories were flooding though, much like Tim had lost control of them. They kept going, even though he willed them to stop. The next time that his dad had spoken of was the memory that Jason had brought forth while doing the diadem, days ago.  
  
And then, after he’d seen his dad threatened, Tim had done what he’d never thought he would do. He betrayed him; he’d ruined his father-  
  
“What the hell is wrong with you?”  
  
It was Jason’s voice, and Tim cringed until he looked up and realized that it was Damian that was being reprimanded. He also realized, after a moment, that he hadn’t thrown Damian off at all - for the second time this night, Jason had come to his rescue.  
  
_“Timothy-”_  
  
But Jason was yanking him up and dragging him past the commotion that had started behind him. Dick had pushed in, and Alfred, and Damian was looking pitifully cornered by the two, half angry and half full of pity for everything he’d seen in Tim’s mind.  
  
“Where are you taking him?” Dick’s voice trailed behind them, and Tim created as much resistance as he could, trying to pull back from Jason as he was wrangled down the hall.  
  
Jason whirled around and shouted. “To my room. He’s obviously not safe when he’s out of my sight!”  
  
And then Jason was dragging him forward again, until he kicked open his own door and shoved Tim inside.  
  
“I didn't mean to-” Tim started, but Jason backed him up against the bed and shoved him down, and pressed his palms to Tim’s chest. Tim went stiff, and his heart skittered as Jason leaned in closer, his eyes closed to focus. He seemed to be listening for something, and after a moment, he took a deep breath. Then he stalked back to the door, slammed it shut, and locked it.  
  
“Spill.” Jason demanded, and he crossed his arms over his chest.  
  
After what Damian had taken, what more did he have to give?  
  
“Your diadem isn’t broken, thank God, or I’d have killed that little brat. But you’re not leaving this room until you’re honest with me.”  
  
Tim could tell that he wasn’t joking, and he wasn’t in the mindset to be clever.

"Damian can see into my head somehow. He saw something about Dick, and...I don't know, it made him upset."

Jason frowned. "What did he see?"

"I don't know," Tim was shrugging. "I told you, I don't show people things. I think he was just suspcious of -"

"Everyone is suspcious of you, which is why I need you to start stepping up to the plate, and choose a side. Did you break the sigil the night we did the diadem?"

It was such a sudden accusation that Tim wasn't sure how to reply, and was sure he looked caught off guard, even with all his practice as keeping a poker face.  
  
_“Lie to him.”_  
  
I'm not going to lie to him, Tim thought back.  
  
_“He’ll kill you if you don’t.”_  
  
I could end up dead either way, Tim decided.

"Yes," he told Jason, and he seemed surprising that Tim would openly admit it. "I just...knew how, and so I did it. But I stayed. I didn't leave. I could have, but I didn't."

Jason, still seemingly frustrated, asked, "What else do you feel like you know how to do?"

And Tim, realizing he would absolutely not admit that he could speak to Ra's, but finding this a good opportunity to bring up a couple of other things the demon had brought up, said, "I feel like I should fix the seal that's breaking."

"The seal is broken, Jason. There are things after him, or me, or whatever...So I'm sure that he wants to feel protected, and I do, too.”  
  
“They can find him and rip him to shreds for all I care,” Jason grit, and Tim rolled his eyes.  
  
_“I’ll_ be the one ripped to shreds.”  
  
Jason opened his mouth and then decided against whatever he was going to say. Instead, he meandered up to Tim and pulled up his arms, marveling Damian’s handiwork. Ugly bruises circled his wrists, and Jason thumbed the markings with a look of disdain.  
  
“He got mad over something you and Dick did, hm?”  
  
Tim frowned. "Dick and I never _did_ anything. He just...looked after me."

Jason nodded him off, but trailed a finger along the marks on Tim's arms, to which Tim tensed and drew back, nervous.  
  
“You’re not used to being touched, are you?” Jason asked, his eyes narrowed only slightly.  
  
Finding his willpower, Tim moved away from him. “Well,” he breathed. “I think I’ve been enough of an open book today. This library is closed.”  
  
Jason took a few steps backwards, smirking in a way that made Tim’s spine tingle, and his nerves fizzle.  
  
“Right. Well, you just get settled in here. I’m going to go see how the others are doing."  
  
Tim watched him leave and sat in silence for a moment, trying to figure out what had just happened. It took him a minute to realize that he didn’t have his gloves on, but was slightly comforted to see the knot scribbled into the bedding.  
  
He thought about what Damian had seen.  
  
Tim swallowed hard, and tried to decide whether he felt relieved or ashamed. The past was something he'd always run from, but for some reason, it always seemed to catch up.  
  
***  
  
Dick and Jason meandered into Tim’s room. Things had since calmed, and Damian was out of sight. Alfred was cleaning up a few things, and Dick looked lost.  
  
“Damian's still possessive over you,” Jason stated. "I think that's a good thing."  
  
Dick wasn’t expecting him to sound so jovial, and ended up giving him a desperate look.  
  
“Don’t give me that face,” Jason waved him off. “I think I may have just made a paramount discovery that could save Tim’s life.”  
  
Dick’s eyebrow lifted, but his expression turned skeptical. “What’s that?”  
  
“He’s a virgin.”


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15:  
  
  
“What?” Dick questioned, even though he’d surely heard correctly.  
  
Jason sauntered past him, towards Tim’s bed. “Come on, Grayson. Think about it.” He swiveled around and met Dick’s gaze. “The reason he can host Ra’s, for Christ’s sake, and still be alive -” Jason smirked and added, “- it’s the purity factor.”  
  
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Dick came forward, hands raised. “I don’t know - and I’m not sure I want to know where this is coming from - but Tim’s abilities are a bit significant in the scheme of things.”  
  
“With _a bit_ being the key term,” Jason pointed out. He tipped his head back to see what Alfred had to say about it, since he was obviously listening.  
  
Following his gaze to the butler, Dick looked annoyed. “Alfred, tell Jason that he’s jumping to conclusions.”  
  
Alfred, who had been dutifully hiding any hint that a brawl had taken place earlier, released a deep sigh and squared his shoulders. “Master Tim’s abilities aren’t anything that our house has seen before. It’s hard to tell what role they have, though I’m sure, as Master Dick was saying, they are significant. But...if Timothy...”  
  
“Is a virgin,” Jason supplied loosely, spinning his hand idly in an effort to get Alfred to carry on with what he’d been saying.  
  
“Yes,” Alfred cleared his throat. “If he is, and he has a tremendous amount of psychic energy on his own...it could be the explanation as to why Ra’s’ hold on him is more than we’ve encountered before.”  
  
Turning his attention back to Jason, Dick shrugged. “And even if you’re right, how does that save his life? You’d have to take that purity away in order to...” Dick’s eyes widened. “Don’t even think about it.”  
  
Jason gave Dick a look of raw disbelief before plopping back against Tim’s bed, and crossing his arms over his chest. “Oh, I’m thinking about it.”  
  
“And what, you’re just going to take him downtown and tell him to pick someone? If he hasn’t  had sex, there’s probably a reason, Jay.” Dick’s hackles were rising, and Jason was getting a small kick out of it.  
  
“What’s it matter to you? There are plenty of people that we know who’d be willing to do a favor in the name of saving the world.”  
  
“Oh, please,” Dick ran a hand through his hair, and when he brought it back down, rubbed his eyes roughly. “This discussion is ridiculous.”  
  
“Careful, your mother hen is showing,” Jason tossed back, to which Dick turned to Alfred and ordered him not to breathe a word of their conversation until they at least knew if it was true.  
  
From behind him, Jason snorted.  
  
“I need to go and talk to Damian,” Dick said squarely, his eyes tight with warning. “If you do anything stupid...”  
  
“Empty threats always put me in my place,” Jason splayed with sarcasm.  
  
Dick shook his head, gave Jason a sour look, and departed, dragging Alfred along with him. Jason watched as if it were a small victory, though in what battle, he had no idea. Dick’s protectiveness over Tim had always been a minor annoyance, but at the moment, it was a frustrating itch that he couldn’t get rid of.  
  
Pushing himself off the bed, he made his way back to his own room, surprised to see Tim where he’d been last, only instead of sitting on the bed, he was laying down. Jason pulled his hands up in mock surrender when Tim’s eyes snapped open, as if the sound of the door had shocked him back to life.  
  
“Just me,” Jason announced, a little late. He closed the door behind him and watched as Tim sat up groggily, looking unusually tired. Jason wondered if he looked the same - no one had gotten a lot of sleep lately, he and Tim especially.  
  
Still, Tim looked attractive. He was the type that looked good in any mood, Jason decided. Even half crazed and muttering about someone he hadn’t killed, Tim’s eyes had drawn Jason in. And now, thinking about his theory, Jason found his attention lingering on the way that Tim was sitting, feet firm on the floor.  
  
There’s no way he’s a virgin, he caught his subconscious saying, even though his powers of deduction disagreed. But Tim was attractive, no doubt, and there had always been something dangerous in his eyes, even when they’d first met.  
  
“About earlier,” Tim interrupted his thoughts, and Jason had to rewind to their earlier conversation, before he’d left. Tim opened his mouth to go on, but Jason interrupted him, never one to avoid being blunt.  
  
“Have you had sex?”  
  
Tim’s lips, which had been parted to finish whatever he’d wanted to say, fell open, just as his eyebrows dipped inward. “What?”  
  
“I’m serious,” Jason crossed his arms for effect. “Are you a virgin?”  
  
As quickly as emotion had soaked Tim’s features, it trickled away. Back was the analytical mask he always seemed to wear, and in moments, he was shifting to stand up.  
  
Jason blocked the door as Tim approached.  
  
“I told you earlier that -”  
  
“That you don’t want to talk about it, yeah, I know,” Jason cut him off. “But we need to, so I’ll be keeping you here until you tell me.”  
  
Jason had expected anger, but what he saw pass through Tim’s eyes was a quiet flood of fear. He felt guilty for a fraction of a second, and dismissed it.  
  
“You know how, in ancient civilizations, there were always virgin sacrifices?” Jason asked, and when Tim raised an eyebrow, Jason merely backed up into the door, making it clear that Tim wasn’t getting out.  
  
“Well, as crazy as it was, they had the right idea. Evil likes purity. It can thrive off of it longer than other things. It might be why you and Ra’s are so connected.”  
  
“We are not _connected_.” Tim clarified, and Jason shrugged.  
  
“Stuck together. Bonded. Whatever you want to call it. So, I need to know. Are you?”  
  
Tim didn’t have to say anything for Jason to know the answer. He felt a thread of some emotion spin through him, but it was lost when he clapped his hands together.  
  
“Simple fix. So, what do you like? Blondes? Redheads?” he waggled his eyebrows with humor that was lost to the other man in the room.  
  
“A girl younger than you? Older than you?” Jason tried, looking for any type of response. And then he raised an eyebrow and asked, “Guys?”  
  
And there is was. Jason only saw it because he was looking for it; the slightest bit of recognition flickering through Tim’s gaze, and the smallest amount of stiffness claim his posture. That emotion curled ribbons somewhere in his gut, and without meaning to, his thoughts drifted to when they’d done the diadem, and Tim had been so nervous to take off his shirt.  
  
Jason felt like he’d stumbled onto something, and didn’t feel in control anymore. Of what, he wasn’t sure, but as he watched Tim shift in front of him, watching him with careful eyes, he felt it grow.  
  
“What about that guy - was Conner his name? He liked you, didn’t he?”  
  
Tim’s eyes widened, and Jason remembered that he wasn’t supposed to have heard their conversation. Red found Tim’s cheeks and throat faster than he could control it, and for the first time since they’d met, Tim broke eye contact and had to look someplace else.  
  
“Stop.” Tim said, so quietly that Jason wasn’t sure if he’d heard it as all.  
  
“Stop what?”  
  
“Whatever you’re doing, just stop.” Tim sounded upset, and it took Jason a second to realize that he was shaking.  
  
“I’m trying to save your life,” casual, came the reply, and Jason shrugged.  
  
Tim’s attention snapped back, and Jason was almost relieved to see the anger he’d originally expected.  
  
“Don’t you get it?” Tim asked him, as if the most obvious thing was sitting right in front of Jason, and he couldn’t see it. When he didn’t answer, Tim swallowed and, Jason noticed, made a conscious effort not to look as offended as he obviously felt.  
  
“You don’t think I’ve tried?” Tim questioned, and then he held up his hands. “I can’t touch anyone. They can’t touch me. The second that this happens -” Tim grabbed Jason’s hand with his own, “I see everything. And it doesn’t stop. In the heat of the moment - it’s like getting hit by a car, over, and over, and over again.”  
  
Whether he knew it or not, Tim was sinking closer to Jason, and Jason found that his jovial feelings about the matter no longer existed. Tim was staring him straight in the eye when he admitted, “The only person I’ve never had a problem with -” he held up their hands between them, “is you.”  
  
Jason stared at Tim’s fingers, laced with his, and felt his throat tighten. Tim hadn’t said it to be romantic. Somewhere, in Jason’s mind, he knew this. But it was happening again - that feeling - and he pushed Tim back, lightly, and pulled his hand away.  
  
“I wasn’t offering,” Jason heard how cold his voice sounded, and saw his thoughts reflected on Tim’s face.  
  
He was shaking his head. “I didn’t mean -”  
  
“Good,” Jason cut him off, his armor of isolation coming to his aid, like it always did.  
  
Tim looked even more exhausted than he had before, and Jason rolled his eyes. “Get some sleep. You look like crap.”  
  
And with that, he left Tim alone.  
  
***  
  
  
Whether out of respect for his feelings or something else, Ra’s hadn’t said anything. Tim had slipped back to Jason’s bed, staring at his hand, trying to make sense from what had just happened.  
  
He flexed his fingers and closed his eyes, and fumbled through his memories of Jason, trying to figure out why Jason’s rejection had hurt so much, especially when the thought of...them hadn’t even been on Tim’s mind.  
  
He remembered the times he had tried before, but they were just blurry montages. It was embarrassing, really. He’d given up after the second time, and even then, he’d barely managed to get his pants off. This was all during the time he’d tried to open up. Coincidentally, it was also what made him shut completely down.  
  
As if deciding it was an appropriate time to lend advice, Ra’s’ voice crept from the shadows of his mind. _“You need sleep, Timothy.”_  
  
Tim agreed. If not for his own wellbeing, to escape his own insecurities, and to avoid thinking about Jason Todd.  
  
***  
  
Jason stormed into the library, though apparently not loud enough for Dick or Damian to hear him. He saw them, however, and slowed his gait, feeling some of his anger drain at the sight of the two talking. It was strange, really, what felt normal, and what didn’t.  
  
Dick and Damian - they were normal. They were two pieces of a complicated puzzle, and even though Jason hated Bruce for doing what he’d done, he also knew that, whether or not their feelings were a result of the bond or not, that there were feelings there.  
  
Damian had always been a possessive brat, and Dick had always been a free spirit.  
  
And now, because of Damian’s insecurities, they were in trouble. More than they knew, really. They wouldn’t start feeling the effects of the loss for a few weeks, but when it hit, it would hit hard. And Jason, terrified and too stubborn to admit it, wasn’t sure if both of them would make it.  
  
Jason stepped closer and let his fingers roam the bookshelf, not wanting to interrupt their talk - heaven knew they needed it - but not having another place to go.  
  
“I just want to know what happened to him,” Damian asked, and Jason found himself eavesdropping.  
  
Dick looked caught between a rock and a hard place. “Tim’s father...” and he mumbled something that Jason couldn’t quite hear. He came a bit closer, quietly, and leaned back against a sturdy bookshelf, tucking his hands into his pockets as he listened in.  
  
“I saw what Tim’s dad made him do. I saw the things he stole - the way his mother died. It reminded me of my mother. But it just doesn’t make sense. After everything his father did, I felt what Drake feels. Just...guilt. And I just don’t understand it. Why would you feel guilty about someone like him?”  
  
Dick sighed, and Jason frowned, his eyes drifting closed as Dick spoke. “Tim turned in his father. He stayed with me while the courts did their work. Turned out that there wasn’t enough evidence to convict him or the people who’d tried to kill him...and so Tim...did something bad.”  
  
Jason’s eyelids flickered open in interest.  
  
“What did he do?”  
  
Dick was somber, and Jason could tell that he was reluctant to talk about it.  
  
“The moment Tim’s dad got out, his enemies would have killed him. Tim knew this - he was smart. And then, suddenly, there was evidence. It came out of the blue. Enough to earn his dad a lifetime sentence.”  
  
“So...”  
  
“Tim framed his father. To keep him safe, maybe. Possibly to get away from him. And then, in the same month that his father was sentenced, I got called back here. So yes, I’m always going to feel guilty about leaving, because he was a kid, and God only knows how he managed after I disappeared.”  
  
Jason rolled his eyes and started walking away, hating the guilt that had suddenly manifested within himself, because he’d told Tim that he wanted to hear the truth from him, and not secondhand. Not that he’d heard much of a truth.  
  
Then again, at least now he knew that Tim’s mother had died, and he suspected her to be the person Tim was adamant that he hadn’t killed.  
  
Shaking his head, Jason trudged back to his room. He opened the door quietly, remembering the last time, and felt exhaustion hit him. It was only midday, with everything that had happened the night before, but with the curtains pulled closed and the lights off, the room was nearly pitch black.  
  
He tugged off his shoes and paced quietly to his dresser, where he unearthed a new t-shirt and a pair of boxers. He changed in the darkness, positive that, even if Tim were awake, he’d be hidden, and then crept to the side of the bed that he assumed was empty, wondering for a moment if he should go sleep elsewhere after their earlier discussion.  
  
“It’s my bed,” he hissed to himself stubbornly, and sat on the edge.  
  
He jumped when two hands settled on his shoulder, and his reflexes acted more quickly than he could stop them. He had Tim pinned beneath him, and released a sound of frustration.  
  
“Do you have a death wish? I am starting to consider the possibility.”  
  
From beneath him, Tim shifted, and Jason swallowed, realizing how their position parodied intimacy. He sat backward, leaving room for Tim to wriggle out from underneath him, and sit before Jason, on his knees.  
  
“Oh, so now I’m getting the silent treatment?” Jason asked, not that he didn’t understand why he probably deserved it.  
  
But Tim came forward, languidly, and wrapped his arms around Jason’s neck. Patiently, he pulled Jason against him, and let his lips linger just outside of Jason’s mouth, where Jason could feel nervous exhalations feather his skin.  
  
“Tim,” Jason said, though not quite as forcefully as he would have liked. Tim felt like fire against him, and Jason felt their noses brush, and felt his pulse tread tempting waters as he glanced down to find Tim’s eyes.  
  
Tim looked up at him, and Jason, who had been less than a second away from closing the gap between them, felt like he’d been doused in icy water.  
  
His eyes were black.  
  
“Why are you stopping?” Tim’s voice whispered, husky, but Jason knew that it wasn’t him speaking. He made a move to pull himself away, but Tim’s body was stronger than it looked, and with Ra’s behind the steering wheel, it didn’t take much for Jason to become the one pinned.  
  
“That wasn’t very nice,” Ra’s said, and Tim’s hips rocked against Jason’s, slowly, and with intent. “Tim is so very innocent, you see, but I know exactly what you want.”  
  
And he leaned down, and captured Jason’s lips in a bruising kiss, and Jason felt a thousand emotions surge through him. Hate, anger, fury - and also the surprising thought of, oh, this is what he tastes like.  
  
“Ever since the diadem, it’s been in the back of your mind. What this would feel like. You can try to hide it, but we both know the truth. Dick performed the diadem on Damian, and look where that led them. Did you forget the feeling of possession that goes with it?”  
  
Jason swallowed, and struggled to get out from underneath he grip holding him down. He hadn’t thought about that. He hadn’t thought about the diadem affecting he and Tim that way.  
  
“And since you’re so convinced that this will save him, you should do it, shouldn’t you?” Lips nipped at his throat, and Jason writhed with intent to escape.  
  
“And then I’ll go to sleep, and he’ll wake up, and he won’t remember a thing.”  
  
Jason forced his way up and slammed Ra’s down, climbing on top of him in order to get him to a spot where he wouldn’t be able to move. Tim’s wrists were above his head, and a nice expanse of skin was exposed on his stomach. Jason’s legs held Tim’s squeezed between them, and he growled, angrily, “Is this what you want?”  
  
But it wasn’t Ra’s looking back at him.  
  
It was Tim.  
  
“What?” Tim asked, his voice shallow.  
  
“Is it really you?” Jason demanded, his chest heaving.  
  
Jason leaned in closer, saw the blue in Tim’s eyes and let the tension in his body drain with relief.  
  
It took him a moment to realize that Tim was tense beneath him, and that the pulse beneath Jason’s thumbs was racing.  
  
 _“...he’ll wake up, and he won’t remember a thing.”_  
  
“You don’t remember?” Jason asked, letting up on his wrists. Tim started to draw them in, and as if he couldn’t decide on a better place to put them, kept them where they were.  
  
“Remember what?” he asked, and then he looked stunned, and then miserable.

Tim was obviously trying to calm himself when he asked, "What did I do?"  
  
Jason could still feel the heat rising from Tim’s skin, and feel Tim’s legs pinned between his own. And where their hips pressed together, he felt something even more incriminating...  
  
“You attacked me,” Jason stated bluntly, as he rolled off of Tim and made an effort to bleed into the darkness surrounding them. “Of course, I won.”  
  
“I...what?”  
  
Jason sounded firm in his judgement. “Attacked me.”

Fear was obvious inTim's gaze, along with guilt. "Did I hurt you?" Tim looked concerned, and Jason, raising an eyebrow, suddenly leaned in close to Tim and pressed their lips together, just long enough ot build tension before drawing back, curious. "Doesn't ring a bell?"

Tim's hands flew to his mouth and he went red. "I did _what_?"  
  
“ _Ra's_ did that," Jason clarified, and then he shrugged. "At least he wasn't trying to kill me."  
  
Unexpectedly, Tim seemed to lose some resolve, and some of his livelihood seemed to drain away. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe...I just need to find someone, and try harder...maybe Conner -”  
  
“No.” Jason stated. Mostly it was because Ra’s had been wanting Tim to take that path - so it had to be for his gain, right? Unless this was reverse psychology? Jason hated demons.  
  
“No, not Conner, or no, not anyone?”  
  
“Not anyone,” Jason said over his shoulder. He wondered if it was his common sense speaking, or the diadem. Deciding that he didn't want to think about it, he said, "We both need to get some rest. Wait here a minute."  
  
Jason made it to the bathroom in the darkness, and then to his closet. He dug around one of his supply bags, and bit back a feeling of guilty dread when he yanked a pair of handcuffs out and made his way back out into the bedroom.  
  
He flipped on a light, and watched as Tim blinked and bowed his head away from it.  
  
“What was that for?”  
  
“These,” Jason held them out, dangling from his finger.  
  
Tim looked up, and his already annoyed expression dimmed to something close to fury.  
  
“Not going to happen.”  
  
“Just for while you sleep,” Jason stabbed a finger at him. “Or do you want him to have at me again?”  
  
Tim’s eyes were wide with disdain. “You’re asking to handcuff me to your bed, Jason!”  
  
“And if we were going to have sex, that would _actually_ matter." The comment came out sounding much crueller than Jason had intended, and he groaned. “I’m too tired for this. Come on, give me your hand.”  
  
And so Tim did, without making eye contact, looking completely put off as Jason cuffed his right hand to the headboard and decided that was safe enough.  
  
“I’ll keep the key,” Jason intoned, and Tim paused a moment. As Jason headed to turn off the lights, Tim said, "I bet you will."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't realize that I hadn't posted 15 or 16 here. I'm so sorry. I've posted both now, so make sure you've read 15!

  
  
 At first Tim thought that it was a dream. A nightmare, actually. Most nights, when he was able to sleep, his mind ran rampant, meshing together things he’d seen in ways he preferred not to think about. Cases blurred together and other people’s thoughts and memories haunted him, and when he woke, he felt as if he hadn’t slept at all.  
   
Red.  
   
That’s what he saw. Red, repeatedly saturated by something black and familiar. It took him a few tries to recognize it, and when he did, he committed it to memory. It was the symbol he’d seen on the demon that had attacked him at his apartment, and also the marking he’d tugged from the commissioner’s mind.  
   
 _League of Shadows,_ the thought fluttered by, and Tim grabbed at it. Dancing away from his reach, it began to crack into two pieces, crumbling apart, heavy chunks drifting downward, until they slammed so hard into something that Tim felt the tremors.  
   
There was smoke and an awful sulfuric stink, and in the distance, he heard Jason’s voice.  
   
 _“Wake up!”_ The exclamation was followed by a familiar white light; the one that he knew belonged to Jason, because it was comforting and familiar. It faded, and then -  
   
“Tim. Wake up!” And he did, and gasped when his eyes flew open and Jason was crouched over him, attempting to jam a key into the handcuff lock. Tim felt Jason kneeing him in the side, and as he blinked his eyes blearily, he groaned.  
   
“I’m awake already, stop it.”  
   
Jason didn’t acknowledge him, only cursed and dipped low against him, reaching for something that he’d obviously dropped; and when Tim heard a _ting-ting_ sound followed by something hitting the floor behind the bed, his eyes narrowed.  
   
“Did you just drop the key?”  
   
Jason cursed. “Shut up.”  
   
It occurred to Tim that Jason seemed to be in a rush. Calm amongst panic was a schooled expression on his face, but his eyes gave him away. They flickered with thought, and did little to hide worry.  
  
There was a hoarse cry in the distance, and an alarm blared to life. Tim hissed and attempted to sit up, following Jason’s eyes to the doorway.  
   
“What’s going on?”  
   
“Demon.” Jason answered, and he wrapped his fingers around Tim’s wrist and tugged a few times, testing the handcuff’s hold. True to form, it was secure. When Jason pulled harder, Tim flinched.  
   
“Ouch – you’re going to break my hand,” he growled. And then, “Just get the key.”  
   
“No time,” Jason muttered curtly, and then he shook his head and met Tim’s gaze. “You’re going to have to stay here.”  
   
Tim rolled his eyes and shifted his wrist a bit, pulling on the handcuffs still attached to the bedpost. “Very funny. Crawl under the bed and get the key.”  
   
Looking him in the eye, Jason was serious enough to ignite some worry in the depths on Tim’s mind. “If the alarm’s gone off, the thing’s already made it—look, it doesn’t matter. You should be fine here until I get back.”  
   
“Should?” Tim tried to sit forward, and yanked his hank, testing the strength of the cuffs on his own. Another shriek echoed from somewhere in the house, and Tim frowned. “Jason, you can’t leave me here.”  
   
He couldn’t even believe that Jason was considering it. But the other man had already climbed over him, and was padding his way towards the door, barefoot. He pounded the wall beside the door frame a few times, until a flap tipped outwards, and he tugged it down. Inside the small space was a variety of weapons, one of which was a knife that he tossed to Tim, still sheathed.  
   
Though it wasn’t the same, Tim recognized it right away. It was an athame, the same blade that he’d stolen from Jason in order to break the sigil at the hotel.  
   
“I’m assuming you can use a knife?” Jason asked, while he dug out a few more creative weapons for himself.  
   
Tim picked it up, half expecting to see something, and only vaguely surprised that he didn’t. Come to think of it, he hadn’t seen anything when he’d held it the first time either. He felt a trickle of guilt at the fact that Jason didn’t know he’d used the athame before, but brushed the sentiment aside in order to say, “Jason, I’m right handed.”  
   
But Jason had already disappeared into the hallway, and all that Tim could do was glance pathetically at his right hand, which was cuffed to the bed.  
   
“Or you can just leave me to die. Thank you for that,” Tim said to no one in particular. “What the hell is going on?”  
   
It was only when he asked that he felt Ra’s’ power billowing within him, like an undercurrent of electric energy. It took a moment for Tim to recognize the sudden flow of power as fighting spirit, and that thought alone was enough to make his gut turn. Was Ra’s preparing for a battle?  
  
Had the demons found him again?  
   
“Damn it.” He set the blade beside him and twisted around, pulling with all of his might against the restraint. His skin burned as he tried to make his hand as narrow as possible.  
  
“Too tight,” Tim mused.  He shook his head and did his best to drown out the sound of the alarm, and fished along the bedding for the athame. After shaking it loose from its sheath, he pressed himself closer to the locking mechanism, and started chiseling away at it. He’d used handcuffs countless times, and knew how to break the locks, but with bobby pins and thin blades. The athame was too big – it barely fit.  
   
 _“Timothy,”_ Ra’s’ voice was cold and precise, _“if this is who I think it is, you would do well to follow my instructions very closely.”_  
   
Still picking away at the handcuffs, Tim felt his nostrils flare as he worked viciously at getting free. “And who do you think it is? Someone else out to kill me?”  
   
 _“Silly detective,”_ there was little humor in the comment. _“You are nothing to them. It’s me they’re after.”_  
   
A loud crash followed by the squeal of furniture grinding against wood grated in the hallway, and Tim, frustrated that the blade of the athame wasn’t working to his advantage, heaved a breath and  eyed the door expectantly.  
   
 _“You must use my power, like you did before.”_  
  
Tim remembered breaking through Damian’s door all too to well; the rush that had come with it.  
  
“I can’t,” Tim decided to say, even though he new that technically, he probably could. He didn’t want to get used to the idea that Ra’s’ power was simply there for the taking.  
  
 _“You can’t fix the seal if you’re dead.”_ Ra’s put out, bluntly. _“Do you intend on fighting the demon hand-to-hand?”_  
  
Tim rolled his eyes, despite the fact that Ra’s wouldn’t see it. “Yes. I’m going to take it down with a _pocket knife_ while _handcuffed_ to a bed. And haven’t you been paying attention? I’m allowed near their seals.”  
   
 _“Timothy, Timothy. Timothy. Do you see any other way around this little problem of ours?”_  
   
The problem being that demons would obviously keep coming, time and time again. Always seeking him out - or Ra’s, for that matter. And if he was to stay at the manor, and it was to remain defenseless...  
   
“How many demons are here?” Tim asked Ra’s, quietly. “Do you know?” He had a feeling that Ra’s did, because, much like a wild animal, his hackles seemed to be rising.  
   
 _“Invading this estate? Nearly twenty. And I’m sure you hear the one beyond the doorway.”_  
   
Tim didn’t want to admit that he heard it lurking in the outer hallway. It was naiveté; the slim hope that if he pretended like he couldn’t hear it, that it would simply cease to exist.  
  
Ra’s sensed his apprehension, and attempted to assert himself in the matter. _“Don’t simply prepare to fight. Kill the beast, Timothy.”_  
   
And when Ra’s said beast, it was no exaggeration. Shock caused Tim’s mouth to gape when the door splintered open, giving way to a behemoth of a man, with muscles that looked unreal and eyes that were unnaturally white, and a mouth covered by something bizarre and stomach-turning.  
   
 _“Bane.”_ Ra’s gave its name, and then, as if thinking out loud, he murmured, _“It looks like they’ve found a new leader among the living.”_  
   
The thing hunched over, veins popped from its taught skin as he huffed, looking like a bull about the charge.  
   
“Holy hell.” Tim swallowed.  
   
 _“Trust me, Timothy,”_ Ra’s breathed. _“Bane is anything but holy.”_  
   
As if on cue, the demon came crashing forward, and Tim, trusting his instincts, dropped himself as flat as he could against the bedding. He felt white hot heat as the demon tumbled over him, and didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath until Bane slammed into the floor on the other side of the bed.  
   
In a moment of sheer terror, Tim debated breaking his hand to get free.  
   
 _“Timothy, you must get close enough to use my power -”_  
   
“Ra’s, if that thing touches me, I won’t be able to move,” Tim heard the panic in his own voice, even though he was still methodically working through solutions in his mind. “My psychometry will override my will to fight –you have to know that.”  
   
 _“Then control it.”_  
   
Ra’s made it sound so simple, and as Tim watched Bane thrust himself up from the floor, he felt his throat turn to sandpaper. “You think I’ve never tried?”  
   
 _“No one has ever taught you how.”_ Ra’s countered, but the demon came barreling back, clawing his way across Jason’s bed . Tim barely had time to scrape up the athame, wincing as Ra’s howled, as Bane dived at him.  
   
We’re going to touch, was the only thought Tim had, and he pushed the athame into the creature’s belly as he was nearly crushed under its weight.  
  
The images came.  
   
Cold eyes. Dark hair. Cruel smile. Slender fingers pointing, and then there was hell. Reds and oranges and  demons that laughed as men bled and cried, and screamed into a neverending scarlet sunset.  
   
Tim couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t focus; couldn’t pull himself out of the mental onslaught. Somewhere, he heard Ra’s yelling, but it was a muffled sound, blocked out by the terrors of hell.  
  
He was trapped, mind and body. Until the weight suddenly lifted and Bane tumbled off of him, clutching his barbarian head whilst roaring in pain.  
   
Tim sucked in air, turning to his stomach while he coughed, swallowing the urge to vomit. He vaguely noticed that the chain between the cuffs had snapped in the commotion, and, in a bit of a stunned stupor, he watched Bane rip at the skin on his head, as if he was trying to rip something off - or out.  
   
Like heat waves rising from the burning tar of a sunlit street, Tim saw the burst of power. It wasn’t his doing, but he saw it none the less - a ripply of energy that grabbed Bane from where he was standing and sent him straight through the window, curtains and all.  
  
Tim snapped his attention to where the blast had originated, and not surprisingly, Damian was poised at the door, arm extended, palm out. Their eyes met, and Damian gave him a quick look-over.  
  
“Wow,” the teenager appraised him. “You suck.”  
   
Covered in gooey black blood and struggling to catch his breath, Tim pushed himself up from the bedding, too prideful to give Damian a ‘thank you’. Ra’s had enough pride for the both of them however, when he bellowed, _“Of all the careless, misdirected - If you were to die-”_  
   
“Stop yelling at me!” Tim shouted. Only after Ra’s’ voice faded did Tim look abruptly to Damian, feeling a rush of cold seep through him. He swallowed as Damian raised an incredulous eyebrow at him, and flinched when Ra’s carried on, calmer than before.  
  
 _“Do you hear that, Timothy? The alarms are still sounding. There are more. Will you act, or will you wait and be trampled like a coward?”_  
   
Tim didn’t say anything. He couldn’t, not with Damian staring straight at him.  
   
 _“Fix the wards!”_  
   
“Can I help you?” Damian questioned, and Tim realized he’d been staring, waiting for a spark of recognition, that Damian knew. Feeling seemingly safe, Tim ventured to ask, “Is it true that you can’t fix the wards? Because your and Dick’s connection is broken?”  
   
Damian looked appalled, and spun on his heels to leave, muttering curses under his breath.  
   
“Damian—I’m serious.” Tim pushed himself off the bed and hastily tugged on a pair of jeans, and shoes, and then snatched up the athame. Damian was halfway down the hallway before he caught up, and he was surprised to see most of the antique furniture decorating it had been crushed, or splintered.  
  
 _“Tell him to take you to the seal.”_  
   
“Damian,” Tim called, trying to keep his temper at bay, doing his bet to ignore Ra’s for the time being. He was asking because he needed to know, not because he was trying to rub salt in Damian’s self-inflicted wound.  
  
 _“Timothy, you must get to the seal-”_  
   
“What’s it to you?” Damian spat, but Tim could see that he wasn’t angry, as much as he was acting out in an effort to defend himself. There was guilt in his eyes.  
   
 _“Tell him!”_  
   
“I swear to - I’m trying to tell him, so just shut up!” Tim barked, and caught himself just in time to see Damian’s eyebrow lifting.  
   
“Who are you talking to?” and then it seemed to dawn on him, and the color in his face drained. “Is it him? You can talk to him?!”  
  
 _“Now you’ve done it._ ”  
  
“Me?” Tim scoffed. “If you knew that twenty demons were on their way, you could have spoken up a little bit sooner to get the wards and seal repaired, instead of waiting until one was ready to barrel through the bedroom door!”  
  
 _“He can see that you’re speaking to me!”_ Ra’s hissed.  
  
“There are twenty?” Damian stilled, and swallowed. “That many, at once?”  
   
Shaking his head, Tim frowned. “He said there were about twenty earlier - that they’d keep coming. They uh,” Tim was hesitant to say the rest, simply because he was afraid that Damian would agree with the idea. “They want to throw him...me, us into the pit. He wants me to fix the seal.”  
   
Damian’s lips curled in disgust. “Tell him that he’s not going near it.”  
  
 _“Tell my foolish grandson that I won’t be the only one that they toss inside!”_  
  
Tim groaned. “I’m not playing messenger between the both of you. Damian, you’d fix it if you could, right? Then follow me. If I do something you know is bad, then stop me. You can, right?”  
  
Sniffing in apparent offense, Damian narrowed his eyes. “I could kill you at any moment.”  
  
 _“He could try.”_  
  
“Ra’s, be quiet. I’m serious,” Tim shook his head, exasperated.  
  
“Why? What’s he saying about me? Say it to my face, old man!” Damian growled.  
  
 _“Old? This little ungrateful-”_  
  
“Both of you - shut up!” Tim threw his hands into the air and waited for silence, watching as Damian huffed and crossed his arms over his chest, and waiting for Ra’s’ murmurs to fade.  
  
“I have to fix it. I don’t know if you can feel it too, but...it feels weird. Like wild energy or something. I can only assume that means the tear is getting worse. I don’t trust Ra’s. But I do trust that, at the moment, we all have the same goal: we need to fix the seal.”  
  
“Nothing he could want would ever be good for us,” Damian looked strangely serious. “He always has an ulterior motive. He’s always ten steps ahead. You can’t outsmart him, not matter how intelligent you are.”  
  
It was an offhanded compliment, and somehow Tim didn’t feel praised. “I know that.”  
  
“If he wants it fixed, and he wants you to do it, there’s a reason.”  
  
 _“Tell the boy that I’d be more than willing to see him try, but oh, correct me if I am wrong - it will kill him.”_  
  
Tim’s expression must have grown annoyed, because Damian summoned a sour stare. “What’s he saying now?”  
  
After debating the worth of hiding Ra’s’ words, Tim decided that they probably needed to be said. “He said you’re welcome to do it, but you’ll probably die.”  
  
“ _He will die.”_  
  
“I’m sorry,” Tim rephrased, making it obvious that he was repeating Ra’s’ words. “You _will_ die.”  
  
Damian looked shocked, and it was a decidedly eerie expression on him. Tim felt guilty, and shrugged. “Or so Ra’s says. I don’t know. You know. All of this is pretty new to me.”  
  
Pursing his lips, Damian shook his head. “Most of the time, when it comes to things like this, he’s right. Or he was, anyhow.” He seemed depressed to admit it, and not quite stubborn enough to rebel. “He can’t be trusted though. And as much as I’m loathe to admit it,” he licked his lips, as if trying to banish a sour taste, “you and I should work together.”  
  
Tim got an eerie chill, and the teenager looked equally enthused.  
  
“I think that hell just froze over.” Tim thought out loud.  
  
Damian shook his head. “I would have felt if it had.”  
  
A pregnant pause stewed between them, until Ra’s deemed it time to get going.“While this moment is incredibly touching, I do believe we have work to do.”  
  
“Right,” Tim answered, and then took a step towards Damian. “You’re going to have to lead the way. I’ll keep you as up to speed as Ra’s keeps me.”  
  
“Sounds promising,” Damian glowered, and then nodded his head towards the hallway that led to the main staircase. “It’s underneath the house. We need to get down two floors, and then to the kitchen. There’s a hidden doorway there, and then we go to the caves.”  
  
Tim blinked as they started moving. “The caves?”  
  
“Ugh, please don’t make me play teacher.”  
  
Tim jogged behind him, and Ra’s said, _“Certain stones give the supernatural more power, or energy.”_  
  
“Oh,” Tim nodded. A few things made sense - the stone he’d discovered Dick hiding at the coffee shop, and also the fact that Jason had used stones while performing the Diadem. “They weren’t just rocks?”  
  
Ra’s seemed to know what he was referring to, and replied, _“No.”_  
  
Damian groused. “I can’t believe you’ve been communicating with him this whole time. Jason is going to flip.”  
  
A thread of worry tingled through Tim. Doing his best to ignore the sensation, he decided to be as forthcoming as possible, in an effort to garner information. As they booked it down the main staircase and wove their way through a mess of slaughtered demons on the main floor, Tim said, “I was only able to hear him after the diadem.”  
  
Damian didn’t seem surprised, and Tim wondered what that meant. Did he and Dick share something similar, or did Damian simply not care?  
   
His thoughts were slammed to a halt as Damian stopped dead in his tracks. “Oh no, you don’t,” he said, and Tim watched as Damian stretched his palm towards a wrinkled and decaying demon that was trekking in their direction. The same burst of power that Tim had seen before burst forth, and the creature was thrown across the room, howling.  
  
 _“One day, his power will not seem so great to you,”_ Ra’s commented.  
  
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Tim questioned, and when Damian turned, wondering if it was something relevant, Tim shook his head. “It’s not important. Where to next?”  
  
Damian didn’t believe him, and Ra’s grumbled, “We need to get moving.”  
   
Tim sighed. “Ra’s is having a panic attack. He says we need to get going.”  
   
 _“I am not.”_  
   
“Yes, you are. Calm down.” Tim pointed down the hallway and then glanced to Damian. “This way?”  
   
Damian’s lips curled and he nodded before they both took off. “He lets you talk to him that way?”  
   
Tim hadn’t thought about it, but he’d always been argumentative with the demon. “He doesn’t have a choice, really.”  
   
Damian shook his head and pointed ahead, and shot down a winding staircase. Tim followed, plugging his nose with his hands as they rounded a corner here a demon had been massacred and was rotting on the carpet. The shadows beside him gave birth to another, and he stumbled backwards, barely missing the creature’s attempt to grab his bare arm. Filling in the gap came Damian, who swung his leg up, landing a devastating kick to the creature's jaw. Its neck snapped, and Tim watched it crumple lifelessly to the ground.  
  
Damian shot him a firm look f shame. “Seriously,” he shook his head. “You’re a cop?”  
   
“Detective,” Tim rolled his eyes, and started in the direction they’d been heading. The second staircase they needed to descend was straight ahead, and he could smell evidence of the kitchen not too far off.  “I know how to kill people, not the undead.”  
   
Damian sounded annoyed. “They’re people too. A demon’s body is a human body. Hence the term ‘possession’.”  
   
“I also can’t touch them,” Tim reminded, and Damian let out a puff of agitated air.  
  
Ra’s seemed annoyed as well. _“Yet.”_  
  
Tim raised an eyebrow at the implication, but Damian bolted in front of him to lead the way, still rambling on. “Remind me to buy you some coloring books, next time. You’ll at least have something to do.”  
  
Tim frowned. “I’m going to fix the seal, aren’t I?”  
   
Damian didn’t answer because they’d found the kitchen that had a few bookcases lined in the hallway beside it. His let his fingers roam the novels lining its shelves, until he reached Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea. He tugged it out, and Tim wasn’t surprised when the bookshelf groaned and began to shift, revealing a darkened passageway.  
  
 _“Well, that was cliche.”_ Ra’s commented, and Tim sadly agreed. He followed Damian into the shadows, creeping down a sparsely lit hallway carved out of stone. It was narrow, and while Tim could barely see, he could hear the sound of his shoes scuffing the ground below, and a cacophony of noises from up ahead.  
   
 _“There are several demons ahead of us,”_ Ra’s warned.  
   
“How many is several?” Tim asked.  
   
Damian was quietly making his way, and complained, “You’re doing it again.”  
  
Tim didn’t apologize. “He says that we’ve got company ahead.”  
  
“Obviously.”  
   
And it was the truth. A tiny spec of light lit from the end of the tunnel they were in, and when they emerged, it was into a gigantic cavern that stole Tim’s breath. It stretched high enough that the ceiling was engulfed in shadow, and was surrounded by thick and craggy stalagmites. Several lanterns illuminated the underground dwelling, and small trails of water glistened on stone, catching the light. Surprisingly enough,it wasn’t the majestic underground view that held his attention - it was the centerpiece of it all.  
  
A dusty circle of ground had been leveled nearly forty feet in diameter, and it was covered in ominous symbols. Tim could see them clearly enough - it was an simple design. Within the outer circle, the one that created a border for the raised platform, were seven other circles. One that marked the very center, maybe ten or so feet across, with three circles above and three below. A giant cross had been etched over it, the intersecting lines matching with the center of the entire design.  
  
“Is that the seal?” he wasn’t sure why he asked when the answer was obvious. It was also apparent that something was terribly wrong with it. Even though Tim could tell that the linework was a shade of black, bits of glittery red seemed to bleed through the markings. Demons were massing towards the center, and Tim watched from a slightly higher vantage point as Jason grabbed one by the neck and shoved his knee into its gut, looking terrifyingly proficient at these types of fights.  
  
 _“Do you see the tear, Timothy?”_  
  
Tim did. It was a gash in the center of it all; the spot where demons had now reached, and were clawing at the markings set in stone. The more they dug, the more scarlet light seemed to glimmer upward, creating what looked like -  
  
 _“A hell hole,”_ Ra’s confirmed. Tim wasn’t sure how he’d ventured to guess even that much, and figured that it had something to do with Ra’s late night sleep sessions.  
  
“What am I supposed to do?” Tim looked down at himself - he only had the athame. Hardly anything worth considering a weapon verses what he was up against, and considering what he had to do.  
  
Damian answered, though he knew the question wasn’t for him. “Fix it.” He grabbed Tim by the shirt and pulled him down the remaining steps with a sense of urgency. Tim realized why - Dick was on the platform, completely outnumbered, but holding his own.  
  
Tim stepped onto the platform and jolted to a stop. He could feel its power course through him, deep, almost riveting. It was painful. Bloodcurdling screams caused his ears to ring, and he covered them quickly, grimacing.  
  
“What am I hearing?”  
  
Damian stopped and turned to Tim, confused at to why they weren’t moving forward. At the sight of Tim, paled and frozen in place, he took on a baffled expression.  
  
“Don’t you hear them?” Tim asked.  
  
Damian frowned. “Who?”  
  
 _“Ignore the souls, Timothy. Focus.”_  
  
“Souls?” Tim cringed, and the frightened wails in his head grew louder, and he struggled to dampen them with his own thoughts.  
  
Disbelief washed Damian’s confusion away, and he seemed to be on the same page as Ra’s. “You need to focus on fixing it - when you do, you won’t hear them. Got it?”  
  
“You really don’t hear them?”  
  
“I came from a different pit. Long story, don’t have time for details. Come on.” Damian pulled Tim after him, towards the demons digging a way into the hell hole.  
  
 _“Picture the seal clearly in your mind.”_  
  
Fear was churning in Tim’s gut as they neared the center. He could hear the demon’s throaty growls, and smell their charring skin. The red was burning them, and yet they still dug, like gruesome barbarians unearthing treasure.  
  
 _“Timothy.”_  
  
Taking a deep breath, Tim summoned the calmness he always seemed to have close at hand. He pulled the image from his mind - the giant circle, the seven within, and the cross that lay stamped over the top.  
  
“I see it.”  
  
 _"The three lower circles represent levels of Hell. The upper, domains of Heaven. The center is the bridge to this world - the plane of the living. They are opening a bridge. We need to reinforce the seal that already exists."_  
  
Taking a deep breath, Tim slowly edged the soul voices from his mind, until it was just him and Ra’s, and his unparalleled focus. “How do I do it?”  
  
 _“You are already aware that I’ve been sharing knowledge with you, mostly when you are asleep. It is easier that way. Your psychometry makes your mind unusually immune to being compelled, otherwise. I know what you are thinking, Timothy, an therein lies our problem. You cannot remember anything I’ve taught you.”_  
  
Tim realized that it was the truth. He had an intuition about things, but nothing that he could explain concretely, or see.  
  
 _“You need to let down your walls. Everything you’ve built to hide away your psychometric visions, or shelf your pitiful human pains - you need to destroy it, and only then will you be able to act on what I am about to tell you.”_  
  
Despite his calm, Tim recognized fear at the thought.  
  
“You know I can’t do that.”  
  
“What?” Damian asked him, and Tim barely heard it, barely saw the teenager standing in front of him. He didn’t see the battles waging around him - Bruce pinning some beast to the ground, or Dick wiping bloodied sweat from his forehead. He only heard Ra’s.  
  
 _“If you won’t do it, I will have to do it for you.”_  
  
Tim was shaking his head, anxiety threading through him. “You can’t - Ra’s, you can’t, you don’t understand, it’s -”  
  
A brief flash of white overwhelmed his vision, and Tim sensed warmth on his arm. Looking down, he saw fingers gripping him, and his attention snapped up, meeting Jason’s intense stare.  
   
"What the hell are you doing down here?"  
   
Tim didn't know anymore.  
  
“He’s the only one who can fix it, Todd.” Damian explained, but he looked reluctant to admit it. He’d been watching Tim’s one sided conversation with Ra’s though, and addd, “At least, I think he can.”  
  
“What?” Jason looked livid, and Tim couldn’t help but take in the sight of him, flushed with dirt smeared cheeks and a cut on his forehead that would definitely need stitches. “I thought I made myself clear - he’s not supposed to be near our seals.”  
  
 _“Timothy, let go.”_  
  
“No,” Tim stated, firmly.  
  
Jason eyed him. “What?”  
  
A tickling sensation started to build in the back of Tim’s head, and he pulled his arm from Jason’s grip and grunted, “Stop it.”  
  
 _“Stop fighting it.”_  
  
Jason glanced to Damian, who commented, “He can talk to Ra’s. I wish I could say I knew what they were talking about, however.”  
  
Tim didn’t see the look on Jason’s face, too busy trying to repress whatever it was Ra’s was trying to do.  
  
 _“I will not die because of you, Timothy Drake.”_  
  
Something invisible seemed to press on him from above, bringing him to his knees. He struggled against a tingling sensation he'd felt a few times before - like when he'd ripped Damian's bedroom door off its hinges. It was like a reservoir of power had sprung a leak, and it was everything he could do to hold it at bay.  
   
"I can't." Tim breathed, suddenly feeling panicked and claustrophobic. He knew what it was like to let go - he'd done it before with his psychometry. He'd lost control, and ruined people's lives. He ruined his own life, gotten his mother killed, and his father-  
   
 _"You enjoyed it,"_ Ra's whispered. _"Just admit it. You liked cheating people. You liked the challenge."_  
  
“Tim, whatever he’s telling you -” Jason’s attempt to touch him was ruined when Tim slapped him away, hefting heavy intakes of air.  
   
“He’s going to...take it away-” he breathed, and Jason was squatting in front of him, eyes deathly serious while Damian stood watch.  
  
“Take away what?”  
  
My control, Tim tried to say, but it took everything he had to keep the little control he had left.  
   
 _"You liked the power. You still do. You've often thought about it, too, haven't you? Getting into people's heads. You've wondered what you could do. If you could perfect it."_  
   
Tim dropped to a crouch and covered his ears. "Stop it. I haven't, I've never-"  
  
“Tim,” Jason snapped. “Focus on me.”  
   
He couldn’t.  
  
 _"You think about it all of the time. If you could make people forget about you, if you could make them do things for you. And Jason, the things you've thought about Jason Todd..."_  
   
His defenses crumbled. Fevered energy seeped into him and he pushed against it, but there was so much, and Ra’s was still talking, and he could see himself tiptoeing on glass, just waiting for everything to spill over.  
   
 _"Ah, did I poke at a sensitive spot? You try and convince everyone that you're so pure of intent, but Jason - Jason sees through you. He knows about you. And what's worse? That white fog that you see when you touch him - you know what it is. You know that he has a soul, and that it's pure. And deep inside, you know that there's no room for a tainted little killer like yourself."_  
  
“Tim!” Jason yelled, shaking him. And Tim blinked, stared him straight in the eye and, shaking, shook his head against the pain filling him. “I’m sorry.”  
  
  _"You killed her, Tim. You killed your mother."_  
   
And all at once, Tim broke.  
   
   
   
  



	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, from here on out I am going to remember to post here first so that I don't forget. *determined*
> 
> 18 should be up shortly. :)
> 
> Thank you to all of my readers for being so awesome, and leaving me such inspiring comments. You are loved!

 “You don’t understand,” Dick had told him once. “When I met you, you were empty.”

The memory fell like a drop of water. Visions and thoughts twisted and curled like dust brought up from a rainstorm, blocking out the light of Tim’s conscience.

_“See, young Timothy? That was not as difficult as you thought.”_

Tim could see Ra’s in his mind now, a blackened figment with sharp features and eyes that glittered for all of the wrong reasons. He was a shadow within shadows, stretching like a decaying landscape, turning Tim’s conscious mind into murky hues of ill intent.

_“I am sure that you can sense it now – everything I’ve given you. The knowledge, my power. Now  -”_

“You’re annoying,” Tim interrupted emotionlessly. “Go away.”

At the mere thought, Ra’s began to sink further into the darkness.

His eyes darted around wildly, and he clawed at the edges of Tim’s mindscape, trying to stay afloat.

_“You cannot – Timothy! TIMOTHY –“_

The shadows swallowed him whole.

“I like when it’s quiet,” Tim stated.

And then he woke.

***

“He was _fine_ upstairs!” Damian shouted, and for some reason, nothing he said could calm the sinking feeling in Jason’s gut.

“You should have left him there,” Jason gritted, shifting to better support Tim’s weight. He’d collapsed forward, and Jason couldn’t stop the withered feeling that something was really wrong. “He’s a ticking time bomb,” he said, more to himself than anyone else.

Damian heard him, however, and muttered, “Then stop sticking up for him.”

Jason met Damian’s glower. “Me? Sticking up for _him_?”

The teenager gave him a look that made him feel like the butt of a joke. “You didn’t think you were hiding it, did you? You didn’t even do this much for mother.”

Jason felt the memories creep up on him, full of guilt and regret, and he did what he always did – ignored them.

“There was nothing I could have done for her. Just like there’s probably nothing I can do for him.”

“Then don’t get attached.”

The comment struck a chord, and if it were a normal day, Jason would have smacked the kid. The day was far from ordinary, however, and with demons making a slow circle around them, the timing seemed bad for old rivalries. He was about to relay a plan when Tim shifted and pushed off of him.

He blinked blearily, and Jason nearly held his breath, not sure what to expect. After a moment, he asked, “Tim?”

His response was unexpected.

Tim ignored him. He pushed himself up, looked down at himself, and curled his lips in disgust. Jason didn’t blame him – his clothes were filthy, and he was splattered with blood that was beginning to dry.

Still, the movement wasn’t very Tim-like. And, as cautious as Tim could be, he was, at heart, polite.

Jason stood up, slowly, and reached out for him. “Tim…”

“How many times have I told you,” in a blink, Tim moved, grabbing Jason’s wrist tight between his fingers, “that I don’t like to be touched?”

The grip burned, and Jason felt like his bones might snap. He hissed as Tim tossed his arm back, eyes half-lidded, looking almost bored. “Even _you_ should ask permission.”

Jason rubbed his wrist and stretched his fingers. He kept his eyes on Tim’s, and from behind him, Damian shrugged and said, “He doesn’t feel any different than before.”

Meaning that he didn’t think it was Ra’s.

“It’s so loud in here.” Tim commented to no one in particular, and he glanced around, unphased by the sight of demons surrounding them - some clawing their way towards the hell hole, others slowly creeping his way. Some growled, and some were shrieking, and with every high-pitched wail, Tim grew more and more annoyed.

Something scraped across gravel, and Jason tore his attention from Tim to see that a demon was hunched and closing in, much like a hunter closing in on prey. Strangely, it only had eyes for Tim.

“Hmm?” Tim turned, lazily. His shoulders sagged and his bangs were soaked with sweat, hanging over his eyes. It was hot, and the heat from the hell hole was starting to make the cave swelter. Tim was staring at the demon, vaguely amused.

Jason knew that look. He had that look. Damian had it, even. But not Tim. Tim didn’t like fighting, didn’t invite it, didn’t –

Jason gasped, it happened so fast. In a blur, the demon had charged forward. Even Damian had stepped backwards at the suddenness of it. But Tim held his ground, and in one surmountable effort, slammed his palm into the demon’s chest and yanked his hand backwards, tugging out a lump of decaying organs.

Jason moved away, despite himself. His throat went dry as he watched the carcass collapse, eyes glued to Tim’s hand, where something black and willowy seemed to flicker, like a flame.

“Too slow,” Tim stated, and he shook his hand free of the blackened flame, which slowly dissipated.

“Jason…” Damian stumbled over his words. “Jason, he just – did you –“

“Yeah,” Jason managed to say. The words hardly made it from his throat. He felt goosebumpserupt on his skin.

“He just pulled out a soul!” Damian was wide eyed and terrified.

Jason felt the same.

Footsteps pounded behind them, and Jason whipped his head around to see Bruce approaching. He’d always been an intimidating man, but now, dripping in black blood and furious, he was a force to contend with.

“What’s going on?”

Damian straightened defensively. “I brought him here thinking that he could fix the seal.”

When Damian didn’t elaborate, Jason collected his thoughts and filled the rest of what he knew in. “Something happened between Tim and Ra’s, we think.”

“That much is obvious,” Bruce muttered, thickly. “Can you take him down?”

“Is he our enemy?” Damian asked. “I hate admitting it, but I can’t fix the seal. He says that he can.”

“Did Tim say that, or Ra’s?” Jason questioned.

Bruce didn’t seem to care. “Let’s get Tim to comply. The seal is ripping open.”

The image of Tim ripping out the demon’s soul still haunted Jason, and he muttered, “Have fun with that.”

He watched Tim survey the area, only to be attacked by another demon. This time, Bruce got to see Tim work - shifting low, unnaturally fast - only to hoist the beast to the side and send it slamming into the ground - enough for earth to crack. He repeated what he’d done before, and Bruce watched in fascination as Tim tore another soul from its bodily confines.

“He learned that on his own?”

Jason shrugged. It was like nothing he’d ever seen, and it made him feel insanely nervous. It was one thing for Tim to have power. It was another to see him using it with complete control.

Bruce took a few steps forward, pacing towards Tim with even strides. He was either brave or stupid, Jason thought, though he knew that Bruce acted purely on instinct.

“Tim,” he called.

Tim didn’t respond. He was still surveying the hell hole, and the small group of demons digging at it.

“Timothy Drake.” Bruce demanded his attention, and slowly, Tim turned, annoyed.

“I don’t have time for you right now.”

Bruce stopped, and even Jason felt it - the floor seemed to ripple, throwing them off balance. Tim was the only one that seemed able to ride the little wave, and he tipped his head back idly, “It’s about to break.”

Jason watched the hell hole crack further. From behind them, Dick rushed up, looking exhausted. He didn’t stop to ask what was going on, he simply made a beeline towards Tim, who’s eyes darted to meet his arrival.

“Dick -” Bruce said, but Dick swooped past, wiping blood and sweat from his forehead.

“Are you Tim or Ra’s?” he questioned, eyes serious.

Tim blinked. “You can’t even recognize me?”

“Tim,” Dick breathed, relieved. “You came to fix the seal, didn’t you?”

Tim eyed him, and then shrugged. “That’s not what _I_ want to do. It’s what you all would like me to do.”

Dick, who had come to stand nearly two feet from him, stopped in his tracks. He studied Tim closely. “Did you turn it off?”

The hell hole gasped, like a thing coming to life. Tim asked, “Does it matter?”

Dick’s eyes hardened.

Jason jogged up to him, feeling uneasy. “Do you know what’s going on?”

Dick’s fingers balled into fists. “That bastard.”

“What?” Jason waited for him to elaborate. “Is it Ra’s or Tim?”

Looking painedand royally pissed, Dick’s eyes narrowed. “It’s Tim, all right. This is what he’s like when he chooses not to feel anything. He was like this when I first found him.”

Jason turned his attention back to Tim, who was heading blindly towards the few remaining demons pillaging at the seal’s center.

“He can choose not to…”

“Jason,” Dick took a deep breath. “He was in and out of this the entire time that I knew him - except for the last year. I thought it was a psychometry thingand that he was over it. But you don’t get it - when he’s like this, he’s unpredictable.”

“Is he ever not?”

Dick’s entire body was stiff. “Jason, he’s only acting out of self interest. He couldn’t care less what happens to the rest of us. Picture Tim loose, psychometry and  Ra’s’ power, without any morality.”

It was a dark thought. “How’d you snap him out of it?”

“I didn’t.”

Jason didn’t like the sound of that. He didn’t like the idea of it either.

 “Behind you,” Dick was already moving, but Jason was late to turn, and a demon grabbed him by the throat and hoisted him up. He choked on a cough and attempted to knee the thing in the gut, but his legs couldn’t reach. Black spots danced in his vision, and he saw fingers curl around the creature’s wrist.

"Let him go," Tim demanded, and to emphasize his point, his grip tightened, cracking bone.

The demon shrieked.

Jason sucked in a breath when it dropped him and retreated a few steps, yanking its limp arm from Tim’s grip.

"Mine," Tim stated.

Jason’s head snapped up at the declaration, and he wiped blood from his lips as Tim slid in front of him, looking livid. He tensed, and Jason felt it - the tiniest connection between them.

In an instant, he recognized it for what it was - the diadem.

"Tim," Jason took advantage of it, knowing that Tim, even with whatever was going on with him, felt it too. "Fix the seal."

A lengthy second passed as Tim turned to look at him, and Jason nearly growled, “Do it!”

Tim stared at him a moment longer before sighing reluctantly. He returned his gaze to the demon, who slowly cowered backwards, and away. He didn’t make it far - not before Dick and Damian took it down.

Tim closed the gap between he and Jason and pulled Jason to his feet.

"Help me," he said, and Jason let himself be dragged across the seal, towards the pit. “My blood isn’t pure enough.”

"Pure enough for what?" he asked, but Tim was focused, and stopped them at the exact center of the lower half of the seal’s inner circle. He tugged Jason down and surprised him by reaching into his jacket and pulling out the athame he wasn’t supposed to know was hidden there.

Jason frowned as Tim simply pulled his hand up, turned his palm skyward, and slit it deep enough to bleed.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Jason gasped, and he tried to yank his hand back, but Tim held it steady, his gaze lazy.

"Don’t waste the blood," Tim told him, and shaped Jason’s hands into a bowl for the blood to pool. Jason watched as he then pricked his own forefinger, enough to get a steady drizzle of red.

"The old one was Dick and Damian’s," Tim explained to him, indicating the seal that had been breached. "This one will be ours."

He dipped his slit finger into Jason’s bloody palm and drew a perfect circle, and, using Jason’s blood as paint, he started a complex pattern on the flat stone.

Jason watched as Tim drew it nearly seamlessly - it was more complicated than anything he’d ever done, with symbols that he didn’t recognize. He wished that he did - not knowing exactly what Tim was doing made him nervous. Especially because Tim was so out of it.

When Ra’s took over Tim, Jason at least knew what he was dealing with - but this?

"Can you still speak with Ra’s?" He asked in an attempt to figure out what was going on inside Tim’s head.

Blue eyes flickered up to meet his own, briefly. “I suppose, if I wanted to.”

Jason considered that, and against his own judgement, asked, “If I wanted to talk to him later, would you let me?”

Tim answered, “If I feel like it, maybe.”

Jason nodded and let him work. If Tim could speak to Ra’s, like Damian had said, he certainly wasn’t now. And, to make things more confusing, even though Ra’s didn’t seem to be present, Tim was doing things only Ra’s knew how to do.

It didn’t make sense - but then again, nothing about Tim made sense.

Jason decided to take things step by step. The priority was the seal, whether he wanted Tim to be the one fixing it or not.

There were two demons left. They were huge compared to the others -they’d obviously gone after hefty human hosts, all for the purpose of being the diggers of the bunch. They were ignoring Jason and Tim altogether, but Jason wondered what he would do if that changed. He trusted Dick and Damian to take care of that.

The pattern grew, and Jason watched as Tim etched out intricate symbols, linking them with circles. It looked like something from a grimoire, or ancient text. Watching it come to life was mesmerizing, but a shout pulled his attention elsewhere.

"Jason!" Dick yelled, and it was laced with panic.

Whipping his head in the direction of the call, Jason saw Dick on his hands and knees over Damian, who was screaming. He was in throes of pain, and Jason wondered how he hadn’t heard it sooner.

Out of instinct, he shifted in Damian’s direction, but Tim tugged him back. Jason’s attention whirled to him, about to explain, but Tim stunned him with a look that implied he knew exactly what was happening.

Jason stuttered through a breath, and he looked down at his bloodied hands and the intricate sigils Tim had been scribbling, and he tried to pull away, allowing a few drops of blood to drip to the ground in the process.

"Jason." Tim’s voice was emotionless, and then it hit him. Jason understood. Whatever had happened - Tim wasn’t feeling anything. Nothing. His eyes were dead, like he was going through the motions.

Tim pulled his palm forward again, and scooped up more blood to draw with. “I told you. This is _our_ seal.”

Jason leaned forward, grabbing Tim’s wrist before he could do anything else. He understood it now, somewhat. He wasn’t fixing the seal - he was recreating it. And worse, it was obvious that he didn’t care what happened to Damian.

Jason knew that as much as they didn’t get along, this wasn’t Tim.

"Tim, you can’t kill Damian."

Tim raised an eyebrow at him and glanced over his shoulder, to where Dick and Damian were. Damian was crying out, and Dick was struggling to figure out what was going on, terror in his eyes. Jason was shaking, and Tim looked down at his hand, almost confused.

"You don’t want me to finish the seal?"

"I want you to finish it _without_ killing Damian.”

Tim frowned. “Damian is connected to his seal. His power is constantly feeding it. In order to fix this seal, I have to trap it, and cut that tie. There is no other way.”

Jason yanked Tim towards him. “There has to be another way!”

There was a pregnant pause, which cemented the idea that no, there was no other way. Jason’s heart was like a jackhammer in his chest, racing through everything he knew about seals and wondering how he thought the seal could be fixed in the first place.

Then he remembered that Damian had to be the one to fix it. It had to be his blood. But now, with the bond broken, he wasn’t strong enough, and -

"I feel it," Tim leaned in close, making his words seem intimate. He tugged his hand from Jason’s grip and pressed it to Jason’s heart, on his chest. "You’re sad. You’re confused. I know, because I can feel it. And that means that you know what I’m feeling as well."

 _Nothing_ , Jason thought. _You’re not feeling anything._

And his eyes widened.

Tim felt nothing.

He’d readily kill Damian without a second thought, because right now, he wasn’t himself. Tim would do it - he would make that difficult decision, because Jason couldn’t.

Tim pulled back, pausing as their noses touched, soaking up Jason’s sight. From behind him, Dick was screaming Damian’s name, and Jason kept his eyes glued to Tim’s as he felt the familiar rub of a finger against his bloodied palm, and then -

"Finish the other half with Damian’s blood," came a dark and demanding voice from above. Jason looked up, as did Tim, to Bruce. He was wearing all black, and his eyes were mercilessly caught on Tim’s.

"Without his bond to Dick, it won’t be as strong as mine."

Bruce’s eyes narrowed. “We can adjust it later-“

"You want Damian’s power to circulate twice as far? It will still loop the lower seal, and then half of mine."

"It will keep him alive."

Jason watched Tim’s eyes narrow. He was obviously thinking something, and not saying it.

"What is it?" Jason asked.

Tim was still watching Bruce when he said, “Damian isn’t strong enough for that anymore.”

Bruce didn’t argue. “Just do it.”

Tim’s attention fluttered back to the seal, and then to Jason. “Wait for me,” he directed, and then he was lifting himself up and heading off to collect Damian.

Jason felt frozen. Damian wasn’t strong enough to fix the seal, and for Tim to do it, he’d have to cut Damian out completely. But if they didn’t repair this seal, the hell hole would open, and create a gateway for demons to rise into the world.

Moments later, Dick dropped beside him, supporting Damian, who was incredibly pale, but bearing it.

"I’m going to kill you," Damian snapped at Tim, who kneeled down, took hold of his palm, and slit it. Damian didn’t even wince - his eyes followed Tim’s every movement with a startling ferocity.

"He was like this when I found him," Dick said quietly. At first Jason thought he was referring to Damian, but realized that he meant Tim.

"What?"

"Turned off. That’s what we called it. When he can’t handle certain things, he just defaults to it."

Jason watched Tim work, almost looking bored as he bled complex patterns onto the ground that would save their lives.

"So he’s acting on practicality?"

Dick’s grip tightened on Damian’s shoulder when he whined through a sudden stroke of pain, and he buried his chin in Damian’s cropped hair.

"It’s like I said,” he murmured against Damian’s ear, and then he flashed Jason a comprehensive look. "He’s completely self serving. Maybe the diadem affects it, maybe not. I don’t know, Jay. I don’t know.”

Jason nodded, but found it hard to watch Damian. He was close to tears, which for him, meant he was experiencing a tremendous amount of pain. His knuckles were white, gripping Dick’s pants, and Bruce, who was hovering, announced he was going to see to the remaining demons. They were still digging, as if that’s all they cared to do.

"Damian can’t handle this," Dick stated.

Jason didn’t want to admit that he felt the same. His chest was burning with the frustration of not being able to do anything, and the look on Dick’s face was slowly chipping away at his control.

"I’m sorry," Damian gritted out.

"You didn’t know bringing Tim here would-" Dick started, but Damian shook his head.

"No. I’m sorry for breaking it. The bond," he gasped and tears finally stumbled down his cheeks. "I was just scared and-"

Dick wrapped his arms around Damian and squeezed, cutting him off. “Stop.”

"I don’t want to," Damian breathed. "I wanted to be with you."

"You are with me. You always have been."

Jason looked away, feeling his eyes fill and his throat go tight. It was enough to make Tim look back at him before making one final strike against the floor.

The hell hole let out a high-pitched wail and began to fold in on itself.

The two remaining demons collapsed dead to the ground, and Jason watched as the Tim’s seal glowed, the circles spinning like a giant lock. It twisted into place over the old seal, and just as the hole closed, the seal froze and almost seemed to slam into the ground, causing dust to rise.

Damian huffed, still in pain, but still alive.

Jason left him to Dick’s care, and jumped up when Tim suddenly folded over, coughing. He pressed his palm to Tim’s back, as Tim sat up and announced, “I’m going to have another surge.”

"What?" Jason asked. "Why?"

"My power is battling Damian’s. I’m trying not to let it win.”

He hunched over again and Jason felt it - a swell of heated power that made his hair stand on end.

"What do you need?" Jason asked, unsure of what to do.

"Pull my power, like you did with the diadem. But give it -" Tim shuddered through something, and then was pulling his shirt off, and dragging Jason’s hands to his chest. "Instead of sealing it, give it to Damian."

Jason shook his head. He’d never heard of transferring power. He’d never done anything like it.

"I don’t know how to do that."

Tim was turning pale, and sweat was dripping from his hairline. “Just c-control it as you pull it.” And with that, Tim took the athame he was holding and cut a small sigil onto his chest. He pressed his hand over it, which was still covered in Damian’s blood.

From behind them, Damian let out a hoarse cry, and Jason tossed a glance over his shoulder, watching as Damian’s shirt started to drench with blood. Dick pulled it up, wide eyed and worried, and Jason sucked in a breath when he realized that the same symbol was being carved into Damian’s skin as well.

"Tim-" Jason started, but his words stopped when Tim slid closer and dropped the athame in favor of holding Jason’s palms tight to his skin.

"I’m not giving him Ra’s’ power, I’m giving him mine. Without it, he won’t make it through the night. That’s what you’re worried about, isn’t it? Damian?"

Jason narrowed his eyes. “I’m worried about you, too.” He could feel power bubbling invisibly around Tim, and still couldn’t get over the lifeless look in Tim’s eyes.

"Jason," Tim said.

Jason shook his head. “Don’t we need a sigil-“

"Jason," Tim eyed him. "Just do what you normally do."

And so Jason did. Tim slowly lowered to the ground and Jason straddled him, pulling out reddened tendrils of magic, watching as Tim trapped the pieces between his palms and pressed them to the marking on his stomach. It was a team effort, one where Jason felt completely removed - he had no idea what was going on, or how it was working.

He just trusted Tim. And even that, he wasn’t sure of.

When the last of the power seemed to be drained, Tim stilled, and Jason sat back. He watched Tim’s hands fall to his chest, and frowned. His veins looked black beneath his skin.

Jason pulled up his arm and then looked back to Damian, who dragged himself over, Dick in tow. His cheeks had color, but not much.

"Never do that again," he smacked Jason. "Ever! I’m going to murder him. I’m going to -” but he clutched his chest and doubled over, still feeling the effects of whatever Tim had started.

Jason studied Tim’s arm, and chest. The space around where he’d cut himself was turning crisp and black, and he watched as the black seemed to spread.

Dick seemed to catch on, and picked up his athame off the ground. “Holy poisoning.”

Damian had gotten it once, when he was first born, but it hadn’t been this bad.

"Damnit," Jason said, watching as the black crept up further, past Tim’s elbow, and over his heart. Dick was already moving. “I’ll go start the bath in your room, and Dami…just stay put. Please. I promise I’ll be right back.”

Bruce was a shadow behind them that started to fade, and Jason realized that it was because he was leaving.

"Where are you going?" Jason asked, pulling Tim up against his chest.

Bruce didn’t cast a look towards him. He just said, “To see the Chival.”

Jason almost deadpanned. “You’re leaving _now_?”

This time, Bruce did look at him. “I don’t know any more than you do. You and Dick have always kept things under control. I trust you. You don’t believe it, but you’ve already succeeded me. So I will continue to trust you to take care of the manor while I go get answers.”

Jason shook his head. “You’re not allowed to tell me that you’ve got nothing left to teach.”

Bruce frowned at him and then left.

Jason pounded his fist against the ground and then did what he always did - got his priorities straight. He stood, hauling Tim up with him, and went as quickly as he could to his room. Alfred met him in the kitchen and helped with Tim’s weight.

He looked at Tim’s arm, his face remaining neutral. “This looks worse than Damian’s.”

"I agree," Jason replied, tiredly. His legs felt like jelly, but he pressed forward.

Dick was waiting outside of his room, holding two stones. They were one of the many they had that contained evil energies. “I put three in - do you need more?”

"Yeah," Jason said. "It’s pretty bad. Make the hell water as strong as you can."

"I’ll prepare the holy water for you, for afterward." Alfred left him at his doorway, and Jason half carried, half dragged Tim inside his room and then to the bathroom.

"Where’s Bruce?" Dick asked, still placing the stones.

"Gone." Jason hefted Tim into the bathtub, and winced when some of the water splashed up onto his arm. It burned.

Dick didn’t bother asking anything else about Bruce, knowing that it was a sore spot for Jason. Alfred pushed in behind him, carrying a good-sized jug of holy water, as promised.

"Hell water to fix him, and holy water to fix you. Do you need-"

"No, go check on Damian. I’ll be fine."

"Are you sure?" Dick asked, though it was obvious he wanted to be with his younger counterpart.

"Go," Jason told him, and Dick pinched his lips and nodded, and pulled Alfred out with him.

"But Master Richard-"

"Jason wants to be alone with him. I’ll explain everything on the way down," Dick mumbled as they left and when Jason heard his door close, he took a deep breath and leaned forward over the wall of the tub, pressing Tim’s arms deep while gasping in pain.

Tim’s eyes shot open and Jason jumped. He sat up in the tub, and waves of steam wafted up from his body. He looked at Jason, and Jason found himself disappointed to be met with an expressionless gaze.

“Don’t touch the water. You’ll get hurt.”

“I know that,” Jason nearly barked at him, and then asked, “Can I speak to Ra’s?”

Tim eyed him, and washed water up and down his arms, cleaning away dirt and blood to reveal pale and unblemished skin. He shook his head. “No.”

“You said that I could,” Jason argued.

“I said, if I felt like it,” Tim countered. “You don’t really like me this way, do you?” It came out as a statement rather than a question.

Jason wasn’t sure how to reply. “I’m not used to you this way.”

“You’ll miss it,” Tim said to him, and sighed. “I know everything that Ra’s knows. If you put the wall back up, that will go away. I’ll be useless again.”

“If I put…” Jason repeated, thinking. “You can go back?”

Tim didn’t answer. He just watched his arm as his veins slowly faded from black back to normal.

“Mm,” he finally said. “I guess he wants to speak with you.”

Jason opened his mouth to speak, but Tim cut him off.

"Finally," Tim spoke, but it was Ra’s. "Ridiculous."

Jason narrowed his eyes. “Where’s Tim?”

"Which one?" Ra’s scoffed. "This boy is brilliantly damaged."

"Where is Tim?" Jason repeated, with aggravated annunciation.

"You need to make a decision," Ra’s said. "Because my time speaking to you is limited. If you want your Tim back, you need to create a gate.”

Jason didn’t like the sound of that. “A gate? Ugh, why did I even want to talk with you in the first case.” He rubbed at his eyes, feeling crazy.

“Because you have no idea what’s happening, and I do.”

“Tim turned his emotions off somehow,” Jason provided, and Ra’s looked surprised that he’d figured that much out.

“Your diadem is stronger than I thought.” Ra’s sighed, and then shook his head. “Tim won’t be able to come back from this. I made a mistake. Yes, I will admit it. I thought that he was more stable - but he balances precariously between what he chooses to feel and what he puts aside. That balance is broken, and the only way it can be remade is from a gate.”

The idea sounded insane. Jason had done plenty of gates, but this? “A gate that controls his emotions?”

Ra’s snorted. “Of course not. A gate so that, when he becomes like this, you can snap him out of it.”

Jason pushed himself back. “No. I don’t want that kind of power.”

“You’re afraid of power?” Ra’s almost laughed. “Imagine Timothy Drake, emotionless, with my power, wandering freely. You want that?”

Funnily enough, Dick had said the same thing.

“Don’t get me wrong, Jason Todd. One day, I will kill you. You betrayed me, after all. But now, we seem to have the same interests. I need Tim alive and aware. As frustrating as it is to have him the way he was, and have to spoon-feed him information, it’s not in my best interests for him to be able to have my knowledge, and shelf me. And you, it’s not in your best interests either.”

Jason gruffed. “And how’s that?”

“Do you think that Tim cares if he lives or dies when he’s like this? Why do you think he’s halfway dead from poisoning? And who do you think he did it for?”

The thought wasn’t one Jason had considered. Tim hadn’t given much thought to Damian during the ordeal, but it now crossed Jason’s mind that he hadn’t been looking after himself either.

“That move he had - sending power to Damian - it could have killed him, especially with this,” Ra’s held up Tim’s arm, where his veins were slowly turning back to regular. “But he didn’t care. And all because he knew that he was doing what you wanted.”

Jason regretted the times he’d wanted to ask how Dick and Damian’s diadem worked, and hadn’t.

“He’s pulling me back under,” Ra’s sounded irritable, and then, he was gone.

The change was substantial. Tim blinked, and suddenly, his eyes were lifeless.

“I won’t go back,” he said.

“Because you’re afraid?”

“Because I’m alone.”

Jason watched his features change, and swore there was a hint of sadness that flecked Tim’s eyes.   It was gone as soon as it had arrived however, and Tim was suddenly standing. “I’m tired.”

Jason snagged Tim’s hand and pulled him back down, clenching his teeth against the slight burn the hell water gave him. “You’re _healing_ ,” he instructed.

“I’ll be fine.”

“No, you won’t,” Jason saw that Tim’s hands were still a strange shade of blue, but Tim seemed to disagree. He pulled out of Jason’s grip and stepped out of the tub, hell water pouring from his jeans onto the tile floor, causing Jason to jump up, and race to block the door.

“You’re going to try and stop me?”

“Not try,” Jason said dangerously. “I will.”

Tim took the challenge and was next to him in an instant, fast enough that Jason didn’t quite see it, but his bangs were picked up by the gust of movement.

“You don’t get it, do you?” Tim’s eyes were inches from his own, and his fingers slowly circled Jason’s arms. Jason would have looked down, but there was something about Tim’s eyes that drew him in.

“That you’re stronger?” Jason tried to pull out of his grip, but the attempt didn’t work too well. “Yeah, I get that.”

Tim leaned forward and pressed their foreheads together. “I’ve always wondered about you. About what happened. I think I’ll take a peek.”

Jason didn’t realize he was in pain until he was inside of his own head, trapped in a tunnel of blinding color that seemed to swarm him.

“Just a little further,” he heard Tim’s voice, and felt breath feather his cheek.

Stripes of white pain blinded him, and the feeling of someone in his mind - it was almost unbearable. Tim wasn’t being gentle - that much was obvious.

“All done,” Tim stated, and nearly ripped himself out, leaving Jason to stumble sideways, clutching his head as it throbbed under his grip.

Tim caught Jason before he collapsed and, as Jason struggled to blink stars from his eyes, led him to his bed.

“Sleep it off,” Tim told him, and then, with a bit more feeling, added, “and take some painkillers. Your memories were harder to get to than others.”

Jason clenched his eyes closed, doing his best to breathe through each jackhammering sensation that echoed within his skull, and heard Tim rifling through his things before pulling open the bedroom door.

“And just where…do you think _you’re_ going?” Jason attempted to prop himself up, but the room looked hazy, and Tim was simply a blur. A blur that stalked back to him, and pushed him back down against the bedding.

 “Sleep,” Tim directed. “It will be easier for both of us if I’m not around.”

Jason wondered what that meant, but he was too tired to move, and whether he wanted it or not, sleep consumed him.


	18. Chapter 18

“He’s my child!”  

Jason heard the shrill voice echo in his mind and, half conscious, he twisted against his sheets. Fingers clasped against his arms, holding him down, and he strained against them – but even so, he couldn’t wake up. He was trapped inside of his own head, wishing she’d stop talking.

He heard her again.

“I’ll die before I let you have my son.”

Images of her came in short, staccato pulses. Dark hair, daring brown eyes, laughter. Slender fingers over a pregnant belly. Her hands straining to reach for Bruce.

She died because of you.

The accusation came from deep within, and made him feel like he was suffocating. His eyes blinked open as he gasped for breath and blearily he saw Dick above him, lips moving. There was no sound, only the high-pitched dissonance of her screams.

Jason’s eyes slipped closed once more.

Like blinding strikes of a whip, more images assaulted him, until they were overlapping, pelting against each other. They were blows to his subconscious, hammering away at his very being, forcing shadows into the light. It was a pain like nothing he’d ever felt - like he was ripping apart from his very center, and suddenly -

“He’s my child.”

The onslaught of memories came to an abrupt halt and focused on one. Jason found himself standing in the center of it, looking through his own eyes, only he was younger. He saw her, clear as day, radiant and dangerous, clutching a newborn to her chest.

“Ra’s,” Bruce called, and the name boomed through the underground cavern. Jason turned to see him, or rather, he’d turned as a child, startled by Bruce’s voice. “Was this what you wanted? All along, you were after the boy?” 

Panic rippled through Jason’s subconscious as he realized what he was remembering. He didn’t want to see this. He didn’t want to see that night.   

An infant wailed.

Damian.

Talia had him tucked against her, and the white sheets she’d given birth on were stained red. She was pale compared to them, and Jason saw it - blood seeping out from beneath her onto the sigil that crowned the Ghul’s lazarus pit.

As a child, Jason turned to Ra’s. The man was old, and grinning. Old men didn’t grin like that. They didn’t smile watching their daughter die, didn’t purposely get them possessed to see what the outcome would be. But Ra’s had always been different.

To Jason, he’d always been a lunatic.

“You might actually live if you simply give the child to me,” Ra’s offered through unnaturally white teeth. “You do realize you’re dying, don’t you?”

Bruce didn’t give Talia the chance to reply before his voice was echoing off cavern walls. “That child is my son. I’m not a fool, Ra’s. I know you’re after immortality. Your soul isn’t going anywhere near Damian’s body.”

The look Ra’s gave Bruce was weighted with amusement. “Unless that boy bonds with a human, he will die…or do you already have someone in mind?”

It was obvious that Ra’s didn’t expect as much, so his surprise was evident when Bruce’s gaze shifted elsewhere. Jason followed it to Dick, and it was then that he finally started feeling nervous.

Dick stood, his boyish charm lost to wide-eyed fear.

Ra’s laughed. “The Grayson boy?”

He barked a laugh and then smothered the sound with a hum. He drifted down a thick stone-slabbed staircase like a ghost curtained in black and looked from Dick to Jason almost pitifully. “You and your collection.”

And then it happened.

In an instant, Ra’s was coming at him, so fast it stole the breath from his lungs. But even faster was Bruce, whose hand settled against his chest and pushed him back so that he could front the attack himself. Jason watched Bruce move in front of him, deftly blocking Ra’s’ cane as it stabbed forward.

Ra’s’ movements were fast. Too fast. Jason could barely follow the attack with his eyes and gasped when Bruce let out a sharp groan of pain, throwing his head back in agony when the cane pierced his arm.

It was then that Jason realized the tip held a blade, and judging by Bruce’s reaction, it was most likely poisoned. Just as Jason let out a shout and started forward, Dick grabbed his wrist and dragged him away. He’d come running from where he’d been planted, and didn’t stop until he seemed confident he’d led Jason far enough away.

Swinging Jason behind him protectively, Dick whirled back to the scene that had unfolded behind them, his athame drawn and ready. It was a ceremonial blade not meant for fighting, but the sharpest thing that children as young as Dick and Jason were allowed to possess.

“Don’t treat me like a kid,” he grumbled to Dick.

Tight-lipped, the older boy replied, “You are a kid.”

Jason rolled his eyes and dug in his back pocket for his own athame. They were both kids, and this was their life. What was their training good for if they were just expected to stand by and watch everything they believed in fall apart?

“If Bruce can’t take him, we definitely can’t.” Dick had the irritating talent of reading his facial expressions, though fortunately for Jason, while Dick could guess what Jason was thinking, he could never quite predict what he’d actually do.

“Who said I was going after Ra’s?” Jason snorted, and he took off, rounding Dick in a way that made him unreachable.

An aggravated shout followed him, but Jason was quick. He’d always been fast, and he was small, which gave him agility. He took off towards Talia, sneakers pounding against the flat surface of the lazarus’ seal, and dropped to a slide over the outermost circle. Dragging his athame behind him, it split the sigil, which had been the next step in the birthing process. It allowed Talia to leave, and right now, that seemed like top priority.

It also caused the platform to crack. Fissures caved into existence, and a lava-like substance from the pit erupted upwards, hissing as it dissipated. The whole underground cavern seemed to quake, and as Jason crawled to Talia’s side, he threw a heated glare in Dick’s direction.

“You gonna help or not?!”

Of course Dick chose to do his duty, though reluctance stiffened his movements and caused caution to flicker in his eyes. Sidestepping cracks that ripped the ground beneath him, Dick raced to Jason’s aid, slitting the palm of his hand before dropping to the ground where Jason had split the seal.

Jason had been watching him, but Talia’s voice brought him back to the task at hand.

“Are you trying to kill yourself?” She asked, and it sounded like something Bruce would say. Her eyes met his with a certain defiance, a look he’d seen her wear on more than one occasion.

“More like trying to help you,” Jason snapped. She and Bruce were too much alike. Always trying to take on things for themselves, never quite trusting anyone else with the job. Not that Jason expected a lot since he was still very young. But he wasn’t stupid, and he knew that the blood pooling beneath Talia was too much.

Edging forward, his sneakers smeared it, though he took no notice. Talia did, however, and when her eyes were drawn to the scarlet color, she swallowed and seemed to have a change of heart.

Jason was surprised when she thrust the bundle near her chest into Jason’s outstretched hand, and he was forced to look down and see the child’s face. Pink skin, wet hair, and eyes that were too calm and calculating for something only taking its first glimpses of the world.

“Take Damian. Go.”

The request was startling, and a burst of the pit’s innards shot upwards not too far from them, making Jason jump.

“I can take you both,” Jason had to raise his voice over the sounds of shifting rock and spewing liquids, and Talia gave him a sour look; another expression of hers he was quite familiar with.

“You’re not as strong as you think you are, Jason,” she spoke to him, and her words struck some deep chord within him, as if they held some deeper meaning he didn’t quite understand. She had a way of doing that sometimes.

Jason had never been sure what that had meant, but now, at nearly nine years old, a dark sense of helplessness welled within him, her words cutting into his core, becoming ones he’d never forget.

“Go,” she demanded, and Jason looked between her and the boy.

When his eyes snapped back up, he told her, “I’ll be right back.”

He’d never really liked Talia, but it was mostly because he didn’t understand how she was any different from the creatures Bruce had trained him to hunt. Why Bruce taught him to kill the possessed without a second thought, except for her. What made her special? Why was it standard procedure to burn the corpses of the possessed bodies they dragged home, while she simply watched?

A steady rumble had Jason losing his footing, and he fell to his knees, hugging the baby awkwardly against his chest. Nearly a few feet from Dick, he simply crawled the rest of the distance, and shoved the child forward, urging Dick to take it.

“I’ve got to fix the seal,” Dick held out his bloodied palm, but Jason simply pushed Damian into the nook of his other arm and pressed his palms flat to the ground, crouched on all fours with determination.

“I’m going back for her,” he stated, and his hands felt hot against the ground. His face felt like Dick’s looked, covered in a fine sheen of sweat. Jason also felt that their expressions mirrored each other’s - a touch of nervousness overshadowed by the need to act, and act quickly.

“Do it,” Dick told him, looking over his shoulder towards Talia. “I’ll seal the triads as you make your way back.”

Swallowing, Jason nodded. He knew little about the different layers of the sigils. His memory was crap for those sorts of things, though he tried to remember what was most important.

Talia was in the seal’s centermost circle, or as Dick always called it, the inner triad. A vague recollection of a lecture reminded him that the sigils over lazarus pits had three circles total, and Jason remembered a crude picture of a target Bruce had drawn as an example. Aside from the inner triad, there was a middle and an outer, each a perimeter in its own right effectively sealing anything within.

Which meant that Jason had to get Talia all the way out, while Dick cradled Damian to his chest and resealed each ring, one by one, from his place on the outermost triad.

Of all the credit Jason could give Dick, he certainly knew his sigils.

“All right,” Jason said more to himself than anyone else, and he swallowed and turned, his shirt sticking to his skin as the temperature of the cavern climbed. He was scraping his way towards Talia, the taste of sweat an unwelcomed tang on his lips when the ground seemed to convulse.

He paused, wondering if it was normal to feel hard earth ripple. His center of gravity seemed to shift, and he scrambled forward, fear creeping up on him.

What if he didn’t make it in time? What if Dick wasn’t strong enough to fix what he had undone?

As he dug his feet into the dirt and charged forward, he felt the ground give beneath him. He yelped and clawed forward, surprised when slender fingers caught his wrist and hoisted him forward.

For a split second, he was unexpectedly grateful. The small swell of relief that sent his nerves tingling was fleeting as he heard Dick shout his name, and he saw Talia’s brown eyes widen into those of a startled doe.

Fingers sank into the neck of his t-shirt and ripped him backwards. His stomach did a cartwheel when his shoulder slammed painfully into a jagged crust of rock that had surfaced, and he saw his athame skid away from him and out of sight.

Jason saw Dick in the distance, screaming. A searing sting shot up his arm as Jason rolled over, already raking himself back towards Talia, where a dark shadow loomed over her. Ra’s had always chosen to wear a cape, and Jason had always mocked him. Once, he’d snuck into Dick’s bedroom wrapped in a black sheet, imitating Dracula.

But there was nothing funny about the sight before him. Ra’s was a giant and Jason was practically groveling, unable to push himself up because the world around him was crumbling. He could only watch as Ra’s shifted on his feet, his cape swallowing his body, making him look anything but human. His arm was outstretched and he had Talia by the neck. Jason could see his fingers digging into her flesh, and he would never forget the sounds she made as she struggled to breathe and break free of his grip.

In a moment where Jason should have felt fear, adrenaline flooded his frame, and he charged the old man. He struck with enough force to send Ra’s crashing down, and he distantly heard Talia make a noise as she fell from his suffocating grip.

Ra’s grabbed at him, and Jason’s teeth sank into his hand. The old man howled and pounded his hand against Jason’s ear, hard enough to force Jason to let go to protect himself. He crashed down to the floor with an aching thud and choked out a hoarse cough.

“You’ll never have him,” Jason heard Talia say, and he watched as Ra’s stood and straightened and made his way towards her. She wasn’t struggling, wasn’t trying to get away. The look in her eyes was one of pure hatred, and emotion seemed to bubble up from her like a fountain. Strangely, her body seemed to radiate heat, making her look like a mirage draped in bloodstained cloth.

“I will always protect him from you,” she hissed, and Jason didn’t doubt her words. Something in her demeanor changed, and Jason’s fingers clawed downward as he attempted to force himself to his feet. It was too late to run from her.

Talia slammed the palms of her hands into the dirt beneath her, and the entire inner triad quaked.

Tripping backwards with wide eyes, Jason saw her glance at him, no real emotion reflected in her gaze. She was bringing the inner triad down and taking both he and Ra’s with her, and she didn’t care.

As long as Damian was safe.

Jason was just a casualty, the same as any other body she’d watched burn that meant nothing to her, and so why would she fathom protecting him?

The second time her hands collided with the ground, it gave out. Gravity was swift in grabbing Jason’s feet and yanking him down, and he screamed, scratching and clawing at anything he could find.

Ra’s was sucked down beside him, and Jason saw the red fires of the pit consume him, his face twisting in agony as he howled to the world, his voice booming both threats and pained cries.

And then it was Jason’s turn.

The pit’s raging tide was thick and gooey, and didn’t swallow him whole like water would have. It burned him in a way that forced a hoarse sob to climb from the deepest part of his very soul. There was no stinging sensation in his nerves, or scorched heat that seeped up and peeled away his skin. It was an inky darkness that swept through him like an apparition to suck the very life from him, choking the air from his lungs.

And there was the screaming. Violent cries that wailed and screeched and made his ears ring and stomach roil. He cried out just to drown out the sound, but it echoed inside of him, and he couldn’t free himself from the images that assaulted him - things he would never forget, images that he would one day learn were of Hell, and not meant for human eyes to see.

Only a handful of seconds passed after he’d landed in the gurgling pit, but they passed by like minutes, as though time itself wanted him to suffer.

Sinking was unbearable. Jason could feel his heart pounding slowly, and slower still. He stared up at the craggy rocks collapsing around him, stretching his fingers as high as he could while tears streaked his face.

A hand came from nowhere and gripped him tightly. Coming up and out of the pulpy goo was no easy task, and he had no energy to help his savior. Jason was dragged upward, his cheek scraping against rock along with the rest of his body, until he was on solid ground, hoisted up, and rushed away.

Fear was a noose around his neck, and words refused to come. He watched what was happening around him, too numb to digest it. He’d seen death firsthand and it was all he could think of.

In the distance, he watched as Commissioner Gordon dragged Talia out of the sigil. Vaguely, he wondered how she’d survived. Later, he would learn that she hadn’t, that she’d been yanked out just like him, but hadn’t clung to life as frantically.

Dismounted roughly, Jason was nearly dropped into Dick’s arms. He was enveloped almost immediately, and Jason saw the wetness spilling from Dick’s eyes and the way his lips trembled.

Was he worried? Dick was never worried.

A small gasp beside him had Jason’s head turning numbly to the side, where the baby watched him with narrowed eyes. Knowing eyes. What did they see? Terrifyingly enough, Jason saw the infant differently this time around. He didn’t look normal, not quite human, but not quite whatever else. He was too perfect looking, too intense, and Jason clung to Dick greedily, needing someplace to escape where he wasn’t afraid.

“You’re okay,” Dick sputtered.

Jason was shaking and Dick rubbed at his arm, unsure of what else to do. “You’re in shock, but you’re okay, Jay…”

“Of course I am,” Jason managed, but he didn’t sound as quippy and his voice was forced. Dick laughed against him and winced when a terrifying boom filled the area, and then he said, “The seal is fixed. It’s okay, it’s okay…”

Jason was crying. He didn’t mean to, but it were as if a wall inside of him had come crashing down, and the floodgates were his tears. He sobbed until a strong set of arms hefted him up from behind, and Bruce’s voice flooded him.

“I’ve got you,” his tone was convincing, and Jason believed it. “Jason-”

Jason sucked in a breath of air and his eyes flew open, heart pounding as he clutched at someone, and he huffed when he realized it was Dick - present day Dick - who was wincing, but not pulling away.

Jason jolted up and grabbed his head, fighting off a splitting headache that raged behind his temples. The memory, which had felt so incredibly real, lingered.

“You okay?” Dick asked, and Jason’s eyes flickered up to meet his friend’s. It was obvious that Dick had been worried, and as Jason recalled the look in Tim’s eyes, anger spilled through his consciousness and he pushed himself out of bed.

“Jay-” Dick called out to him, but Jason was already stalking out of his room and down the hallway, like a storm on a path. He didn’t bother knocking before he forced his way into Damian’s room.

“Where is he?” Jason demanded, even more livid at the sight of the teenager, who was holed up in bed, pale, with dark half moons cradling his eyes. Damian’s growing weakness wasn’t enough to put his personality to rest, as he simply narrowed his eyes and scoffed.

“Jason…” Racing in behind him, Dick paused in Damian’s doorway, hand resting on the doorframe. “What happened?”

Jason saw Tim in flashes. Remembered all of Tim’s words, and the way he’d simply taken what he’d wanted. He was realizing, in one swift onslaught of emotion, that Tim wasn’t some problem they could pawn off until later. He also realized, from the seemingly lifeless expression in Dick’s eyes, that Tim had to have left quite a while ago, and that no one had done anything about it.

“Find him.” Jason told Damian. “Your energies are still linked, I can feel it. And you,” he twisted around to meet Dick’s concerned gaze, “you’re going to help with a containment conjuring.”

“Okay…” Dick nodded slowly, not chancing an argument. He barely managed to ask, carefully, “Can you tell me what’s going on?”

A flare of anger pelted its way through Jason, and his eyes narrowed. “Well, let’s see, Dick,” he whirled around, wishing his head would stop pounding. “I have literally had my past ripped from my skull, and was conveniently left for dead in my own home. So, what’s going on is that I’m pissed, and I’m going to drag him back here and seal the shit out of him.”

Dick blinked, surprised. “He saw your memories?”

“He didn’t just see them,” Jason barked. “He forced them out. And don’t go acting like he did me a favor. He didn’t do it for me.” He’d always had a difficult time recalling anything from before he’d fallen into the pit, and the memories that Tim had tugged out had a crystal-like clarity. That wasn’t the point though.

“He’ll know that I’m tracking him,” Damian commented from behind them, and he was sitting up, not looking like he was in any shape to do anything but rest. “As much as I hate to admit it, he’s stronger than I am, and he seems to have all of my grandfather’s knowledge. He also has the ability to rip souls clean from bodies,” Damian stated seriously, and scarily enough, he still seemed nervous about it. “If you’re serious about trapping him, you’re only going to have one shot. If you screw it up, he’ll know, and he’ll make sure you don’t get the opportunity again.”

Jason met Damian’s eyes with a fierce understanding, and from behind him, Dick took a deep breath. “We didn’t even realize he’d left. It’s almost as if he can mask Ra’s’ energy, which, up until now, I thought was impossible. And by the time I found you…” his words drifted, showing his concern, but then he shook his head. He seemed to understand the gravity of the situation, even if he was reluctant to admit it. “What did you want the containment parameters to be? We can’t use his blood, because it’s part of the seal now.”

Tapping his chest, Jason answered, “The diadem. It will trap me too, but…I need to ask you both about something else. Something Ra’s told me.”

At the mention of his name, Damian’s eyes narrowed. “Never listen to anything he says.”

At almost the same exact moment, Dick was wide-eyed, asking, “Ra’s spoke to you?”

Jason waved them both off and tipped backwards against Damian’s dresser, crossing his arms over his chest. “Tim let him out,” he tried to explain. “It’s like he’s buried in there. Ra’s says he made a mistake - tried to disrupt the balance of what Tim feels and chooses not to…I think it has something to do with why Tim is suddenly able to control all of his energy. But Ra’s said he’s stuck, and the only way to get him back to normal is to create some kind of gate. Ever heard of it?”

Damian and Dick exchanged a look, but both remained strangely quiet. After a moment, Jason frowned and said, “What? So you have?”

“It’s called a two-fold stratagem,” Damian looked wary as he exposed it. “I wouldn’t risk it.”

“Risk what?” Jason was starting to get irritated, and it was evident in his tone. Dick ran a hand through his hair and brought it back down to rub his eyes.

“It’s from the Black Books,” he explained. “There was a time when priests used to summon up devils to get information, and in order not to be possessed, they’d use two-folds to, well, for lack of a better explanation, seal their power. But Tim isn’t a devil, or a demon, and using something like that on a human…”

“I’m surprised that grandfather would even recommend it,” Damian was staring at his hands, as if trying to figure it out. “Theoretically, wouldn’t it make him powerless?”

“It might do the opposite,” Dick thought out loud. “Think about it. Right now, Tim’s absorbing his power. The oracle said it herself - he can use it, manipulate it. Maybe this pushes it back into a pool that only Ra’s can access.”

Jason shook his head. “Why would that matter?”

“You’re asking me why Ra’s would want to conserve his strength?” Damian chided, throwing Dick an exhausted half-smirk.

Dick couldn’t help but smile back, despite the brevity of the implication.“You think he’s getting ready to make a move?”

“Grandfather is always ten steps ahead.” Damian acknowledged with a tinge of irritation. “He always has a plan, and a backup plan for that. Isn’t that what you’ve always told me?”

“Until that plan backfires,” Jason pointed out. “Whatever he did, he wasn’t counting on Tim turning out this way.”

They all seemed to agree, though Dick suddenly looked doubtful. “I’m still trying to piece this together. Ra’s told you that the stratagem would bring Tim back?”

“More or less.”

Dick chewed on his bottom lip. “It’s just…I’ve only ever known the two-fold to restrict power. So, say we perform it, and Ra’s power is contained. How does that help Tim’s emotional state? It’s almost as if Ra’s is implying that the problem is power. But…Tim was like this as a kid, before Ra’s’ power.”

Jason thought about it, trying to connect the dots. Surprisingly, it was Damian that spoke.

“Have either of you ever wondered how he’s able to do psychometry?”

Jason snorted. “Because he’s psychic?”

Rolling his eyes, Damian went on. “His parents weren’t anything special, were they, Dick?”

After a minute of thought, Dick shook his head. “Not that I know of, no.”

“Two completely average humans have a child that can pull memories from not only objects, but people as well. When you think about it, it’s strange.”

Jason hadn’t thought about it, really. Psychics were always there somehow, existing and complicating things for people like him. He’d never given much thought to where they came from, or why some were stronger or more talented than others.

A thought struck him. “He can go into people’s minds, too,” he said, much to Dick’s surprise. Even Damian donned a quizzical expression. “He told me that he can share memories, but that he chooses not to, because they’re too vivid and he can’t control it. He can make people believe that his memories are theirs.”

Damian looked appalled. “That is not normal,” he stated, as if taking the look on Dick’s face and summing it into words. “Neither is being able to house a demon like my grandfather with virtually no repercussions.”

His words lingered until Jason asked, “So what is he?”

“Psychic,” Damian said. “He’s human. I’d know if he wasn’t. But there’s obviously something else going on with him, and I’d bet you Ra’s knows exactly what it is.”

Jason didn’t disagree, but he asked Dick, “You said that Tim was like this when he was younger, and he couldn’t cope. Cope with what?”

Guilt was an emotion that Dick wore plainly when he felt it, and he paced forward. It was a nervous tick he’d always had when he admitted things he wasn’t proud of.

“He’d solve cases for me,” he told them, and at their reaction, he held his hands up in defense. “I didn’t ask him to, he’d just do it. One minute he’d be working on homework, the next he’d be hands deep in a case file, feeling up evidence. The first time he did it…it was bad. It was a rape and murder case, and I had no idea what was going on. He turned off for a while after that. I’ve always thought it was some sort of PTSD.”

Even after the explanation, Jason was ticked. “What, you couldn’t hide your files from a ten year old?”

“Case files were my job, Jason,” Dick replied, just as curtly. “I didn’t ask him, and I didn’t force him.”

“Sounds like you didn’t prevent anything, either,” Jason muttered quietly.

“We can’t really do anything about the past,” Damian interrupted, causing the others to simmer down. “Here and now, Tim is turned off or whatever you want to call it, and grandfather wants us to perform a stratagem, which may or may not be a good idea.”

“Regardless of the stratagem,” Jason said, feeling somewhat calmer than before, but still determined, “we need to do the containment conjure. As to whether or not we decide to do a two-fold, well, that’s something we all need to decide. If it ever needs to be broken, I won’t be able to do it alone. And if it reacts with a diadem, I need to know that you two can cancel it out.”

Damian nodded, but Dick shifted, concerned. “You’re seriously thinking about taking Ra’s’ advice.”

“No,” Jason shot back, “I’m asking if we should take his advice.We don’t have to, but this is out of my league. You two would know better than me what works when it comes to diadems and bonds and what doesn’t.”

“If it’s something Ra’s wants, it’s probably not something that will help us in the long run.” Dick thought out loud, and Damian sighed tiredly.

“On the other hand, grandfather could simply be desperate. He’s trapped, and this may be the only thing he knows of that could help.”

“I hate that Ra’s knows these things,” Jason muttered. “He spent a lifetime experimenting with possessions, and all we’ve ever done is perfect seals.”

“We have the Black Books,” Dick mentioned. “We can read it and figure out the counter-conjure. On the other hand, Jason…there’s also one other thing you can do, if you’re ever desperate. But I wouldn’t recommend it unless you’re in real trouble.”

Damian made a noise of agreement, as if he’d caught on to where Dick was going.

“It’s a bone diadem,” Jason listened to Dick explain. “If you find that you can’t stop him, break one. Try not to get one of his collarbones, because they’re hell to heal, and remember that when it comes to diadems, the pain goes both ways. But regardless of whatever power he may have, he’s still human.”

Jason swallowed, not having thought of that. He also wondered how Dick and Damian had figured that particular method out, since they both watched each other with knowing eyes, as if the memory wasn’t a fond one.

“Break his bones,” Jason shook his head. “Right. Well, I’m guessing I was out for awhile, so we don’t have much time. Let’s get everything ready for the containment conjuring, and go from there. Maybe come up with a couple of other options aside from the two-fold while we’re at it.”

Dick and Damian liked that idea, and Damian sat back against his headboard, looking clammy. “If you bring me books, I’ll help read through them. Other than that, I’m going to save my energy for the locator spell.”

“Thanks,” Jason told him, and he made to leave, but not before turning to look at the teenager from over his shoulder. “Hang on, all right? We’re going to figure out a way to fix this.”

Damian simply looked at him, and then waved him off. “Go. You’re wasting time.”

It was Dick that grabbed his hand and pulled him off to the libraries, Jason’s earlier fury now a controlled sense of resolve. In the back of his mind, questions drifted, each adding to his growing feeling that he was crunched for time.

Where had Tim gone? What had he meant, that things would be easier without being together?

There was that feeling again - the one he hated. Where Tim seemed to always know more than what he let on. It was frustrating, and Jason couldn’t help but wonder why. Why that memory of his? Tim had latched onto it specifically, and yanked it to the surface. Now, thinking more calmly and rationally, he could see that.

But what did it mean?

“I really tried to keep Tim from using it,” Dick said, misinterpreting Jason’s thoughtful demeanor.

“What?”

“His ability,” Dick clarified. “When I learned what he could do, I tried to teach him how to work around it. But he’d make progress, and revert back, and make progress, and revert back. Mostly because of his parents.”

Jason eyed him, not as forgiving as Dick probably hoped he’d be, still not understanding how Tim couldn’t have been kept away from the cases Dick had dealt with. He’d even talked about some, and Jason couldn’t imagine a child witnessing that, much less connecting with it. Still, he sighed. “I heard you in the library, with Damian. You were talking about Tim.”

Dick pulled open the library door and let Jason drift through first. “His life has been about as chaotic as all of ours.”

At that, Jason almost cackled. “That’s a truth, if I’ve ever heard one. But, no…it’s just that, he didn’t look through all of my memories. He just found one, and it was of that night. You know. The beginning.”

Jason left Dick’s side to pry the Black Books from a dusty shelf in the back, and when he came back, Dick asked, “Why?”

“I don’t know,” Jason shrugged. “But when we get him back, I fully intend to ask.”


	19. Chapter 19

The floor of Damian’s room was an organized scatter of books and tools. It had taken a while for Dick and Jason to collect what they’d needed, and they’d dropped things off, one by one, until all that was left was performing the conjure.

While Dick etched a perfect circle onto Damian’s floor with blood chalk, Jason leaned over Damian, eying a notebook in his hands. He’d been jotting notes while reading, though he didn’t seem excited about any of his findings.

“Is there anything here that doesn’t end in ‘could result in death’?” Jason scowled, thumbing through Damian’s notes. “None of this is helpful.”

“They’re the Black Books,” Damian didn’t bother looking up from the text he was reading, and simply turned the page as he continued to search for anything that could be useful. “What did you expect?”

For a split second, Jason’s features hardened, but he let his annoyance dissipate. It wasn’t Damian’s fault he was feeling antsy, and Damian didn’t have to help. The teen was obviously exhausted - his lack of sleep had painted dark circles beneath his eyes, and his lips seemed too pink a color compared to the ivory tone of his skin.

Looking up from the sigil he’d been illustrating, Dick raised an eyebrow. “Did you find anything about the stratagem?”

Damian looked down at his notes and pressed his lips together in thought. When he raised his head again, he said, “Nothing particularly good, like Jason said. The book does explain, in theory, how it works, though.”

Interest peaked, Dick sat back, giving Damian his attention. Jason stole the chalk from his fingers and continued where he’d left off, giving Dick a chance to get caught up.

“First and foremost, it’s important for us to understand that the stratagem is, more or less, a much more intimate version of the diadem. Where the diadem contains a chunk of energy within someone’s bones, the stratagem traps it at the soul level.”

Dick chewed on that thought for a moment, looking even more wary of the concept. “ _Intimate_ seems like an understatement. No one would be able to survive that.”

“Well, not for long,” Damian amended. “Like we already know, the old priests weren’t quick to kill the demons they captured. They wanted as much information about the underworld as possible, and I suppose the stratagem was a clever thought, because they could interrogate demons without having to fear their power.”

“It still doesn’t make sense,” Dick shook his head. “The reason that humans can’t hold possessions is because of a demon’s tell-tie - the thread that binds them to hell, that constantly feeds them power. The energy is too much, and the human body wears down. How on earth did the hosts last through even an hour of being constrained with a stratagem?”

“You’re forgetting the Unholy Days,” Damian stated, his expression grim. “When the demons that got out of Hell had enough energy to take physical form. They didn’t need to possess anyone.”

Dick suppressed a shiver and announced, “I don’t even want to think about that.”

“It was a long time ago,” Damian shrugged, and glanced down at his notes. “Oh, there is one thing I didn’t have written down yet,” he said, earning Jason’s interest. “The stratagem, the actual gate, can only be opened and closed by the person who creates it.”

Dick didn’t seem surprised. “That makes sense, since it’s like the diadem in terms of requiring a bond.”

The chalk in Jason’s hand, which had been moving fairly fluidly, came to a halt, and he looked up, serious and aggravated. “So how on earth is a human body supposed to survive a bone diadem and a stratagem?”

The question lingered for a moment, until Damian closed the journal in his lap and said, “According to the books, no priest ever performed both. I think that, when they discovered the stratagem, the diadem became obsolete.”

“Until you two,” Jason told them.

“Until us,” Dick agreed. “But we’re different than you and Tim. Damian needs the diadem to survive. Tim, on the other hand…”

“Tim needed it to keep Ra’s’ power in check,” Jason filled in, and then he rubbed at his eyes, frustrated. “But in the pit, I feel like ‘in check’ is the last thing his power was…”

Frowning, Dick scratched at his nose. “Are you saying you don’t think the diadem works? That his power isn’t controlled?”

“On the contrary,” Damian interjected, “his power was perfectly controlled. The diadem doesn’t block all of a demon’s power. Just a big chunk of it, until it builds up, and the renewal has to be done. But what we saw, and what we need to be worried about, is that Tim knows how to use the power he has access to. Now would be the worst time to replace his diadem with a stratagem.”

Raising an eyebrow, Dick asked, “Why?”

“It would give him an opening,” Jason answered quietly. “There’d be a brief moment of time where the diadem would be gone, and the stratagem wouldn’t quite be in place, and, well, if he knows how to use his power, it would be a moment to his advantage.”

Dick almost laughed. “An opening for what, exactly?”

Jason lifted his eyes to meet Dick’s, and there was no humor there. “I don’t know what he’s trying to do. That’s the problem.”

Damian solemnly agreed. “It looks like we have a few options,” he threw out. “None of which are pretty, but they’re all that we have with father gone.”

No one missed Jason rolling his eyes. Bruce’s was absence clearly a sore spot.

Damian kept the discussion rolling. “One, we perform the stratagem on top of the diadem. That would be a soul _and_ a bone binding, and realistically, I’m not sure how that would pan out. And since it seems we’ve come to consensus that, for whatever reason, Tim is worth being kept alive, I think this should be our last resort.”

There was a round of agreeable nods.

“Two, we remove the diadem and replace it with the stratagem while Tim is contained within the conjure. I won’t be able to help either of you with this. I’m too weak.”

Jason watched as Dick avoided looking at Damian, hating to be constantly reminded that Damian wasn’t doing well. Damian, on the other hand, had given up looking guilty, and simply appeared dejected at the thought of being useless.

“Next?” Jason  prompted Damian to move on, interested in what else he had to say.

“Three,” Damian gave Jason an irritated glare, “is that you use your diadem to try and bring him back. And lastly, we simply capture him and haul him back here, and pray we can create wards to contain him until we find a better solution.”

Dick’s mouth opened, but Jason beat him to speaking. “Use your diadem? What does that mean?”

Pressing his lips shut, Dick gave Damian an uneasy look, which made Jason’s hackles rise. “Why do I get the feeling you haven’t told me something?”

“Because you’re right, and you were on a need to know basis,” Damian covered for Dick, defensively. “You only needed the diadem to control Tim’s power, so there wasn’t any reason for either of us to tell you gritty details.”

“There are _gritty details_? Aside from what I already know? Like what?” Jason demanded with disbelief. He felt betrayed somehow, like he’d gotten himself into something he didn’t understand, offended that neither Dick nor Damian had made an effort to warn him.

Damian sighed. “Do you remember when father had you and I mend the second gate, when I was still fairly young?”

Jason did remember, because it had been a nightmare. Dick hadn’t been around, and so Jason had picked up the slack, and most of what they did was experimental, since they hadn’t known the limits of Damian’s power quite yet. In result, Damian had used too much power, to the point that he’d become unstable, and when Jason finally got him under control…

“It was too much for you. You were out for days.”

“It wasn’t _that_ bad,” Damian countered, in a stubborn effort to defend his pride.

“It was pretty bad,” Jason told him, leaving no room for argument. “Fixing what you’d destroyed was the worst part, and you weren’t awake to help.”

Dick had heard this story, so he simply leaned forward and listened as Damian continued by waving Jason off. “What I’m getting at, is that the ability to use the demonic power comes from here,” he tapped his head with one hand and his heart with the other. “Your brain and your soul. And as a child, I was taught to control it, until that one day, where there was suddenly an emergency, and father needed me to help you with the second gate. I’d never used that much before, and so I couldn’t control it.”

“Obviously,” Jason threw in. “What’s your point? What does this have to do with Tim, or our diadem?”

“I used too much power, and I got knocked unconscious. Even now, I’m exhausted. It may not seem like it, but me being tired is a good thing. It means that I’ve trained myself to control my power well enough to have it affect me physically.”

The words settled for a moment, until Jason tapped his chalk against the floor and asked, “So you’re saying that Tim’s soul is affected?”

Dick’s eyes widened at the prospect, having not considered it before. “You’re saying that this - the way he’s turned off - is his soul reacting to using too much power?”

“From _having_ too much power,” Damian corrected. “I think we’ve been looking at this the wrong way. We keep calling it Ra’s’ power, but I think it’s pretty obvious by now that it’s not just his. It’s become Tim’s, too.”

The idea seemed to hit Dick hard, though Jason was left looking between them, wondering why they were out of the loop.

“Didn’t Bruce tell you?” he asked them. “When we visited the Oracle, she said he was absorbing it, or something. That he could use it on his own.”

Damian soaked in the update with a sour look, before snorting. “Well, that would have been nice to know.”

Dick nodded, but ever the optimist he said, “It means you’re probably right, though. It’s not a matter of Ra’s and Tim being separate entities now.”

“I still don’t understand what any of this has to do with my diadem,” Jason threw out, still trying to decide how he was a make or break factor in all of this.

“Duh,” Damian snorted. “Those symbols inside of him are yours. It doesn’t matter what Tim is experiencing; doesn’t matter that he may be stronger than you, or more dangerous. The diadem answers to you, and only you, regardless. So…” he looked at Dick, as if he was about to reveal some steadfast secret they had between them, and continued. “You might be able to bring him back, by using that connection to your advantage.”

Quirking an eyebrow, Jason glanced between the other two in the room, mildly confused. “Tim and I do _not_ have a connection.” There had only been one time where he’d thought he’d sensed it, and it had been when he’d asked Tim to fix the seal. Even then, it had been the slightest tickling of a notion, and not something he felt in control over.

Damian disagreed. “The connection is there. I mean, you gave him the diadem, so literally, it exists.” Damian’s tone was serious. “You just haven’t truly used it yet. You haven’t needed to.”

“I still don’t understand what you’re getting at,” Jason told him.

“It means that you have to use the diadem the way it was intended,” Dick worded, solemnly, “and get inside of Tim’s head, and _make_ him do what you want.”

It occurred to Jason that Dick was speaking from experience, and the look on Damian’s face said that he wasn’t getting any more of an explanation than that. Jason struggled to hide the look of apprehension on his face.

“You mean, compel him or something?”

Damian and Dick both nodded, and Dick, sensing Jason’s disapproval, tried to mitigate the idea. “Sometimes they just can’t control it,” his voice was quiet, “and you and I are like lifelines. I can’t guarantee it will work for you, because you and Tim are different than Damian and I, but it’s definitely worth a shot.”

“Okay,” Jason said, more to himself as he thought about what that meant. He felt a sudden weight on his shoulders thinking about how he’d practically forced Tim into the diadem, without even knowing for himself everything that bond meant. It was a betrayal somehow, because he’d done exactly what Bruce had done with Dick and Damian - convinced them that something was for the greater good without fully understanding its purpose.

Taking a deep breath, he weighed his options.  He could sense Dick and Damian’s eyes lingering on him, both looking a bit guilty themselves. But Jason couldn’t blame them. Neither of them had been present when Bruce gave the word for Jason to perform the diadem, and so they missed their opportunity to squash the idea.

What was done was done, and Jason simply had to deal with it.

“I won’t do the stratagem,” Jason told them. “There are too many unknowns. I don’t even want to know how to do it.”

Damian accepted his answer while Dick looked relieved; he hadn’t seemed a big fan of the idea from the start.

“Does that mean you’re going to try and snap him out of it yourself? Or would you rather bring him back here?”

“I’ll try to get through to him,” Jason offered, though he didn’t sound very confident. Especially remembering how easily overthrown he’d been the night previous, and how powerless he’d been against Tim with his newfound sense of power. “But if I can’t, we’ll bring him back here, and I guess…go from there.”

A collection of agreeable nods circulated the trio, and Dick picked up the chalk he’d set down earlier, intent on finishing the sigil. It was busy work, and so Jason lifted his chalk and helped, giving Damian a few minutes to relax.

“Did you bring the map up?” Dick asked as he leaned back, and wiped his forehead. He was looking around for it, and Jason motioned to Damian, who had been safekeeping it on his bed. It was passed down and unfolded, with Damian’s careful instructions to flatten it over the sigil. He was picky about the centers being aligned, and Jason released an irritated huff the third time he was forced to shift the map’s center.

“This isn’t one of the more complicated rituals, you know,” he stated, and Damian took the opportunity to slide from his bed and hunker down on the floor, red-eyed and pale.

“No, but it is a precise one. I don’t want to screw it up, since I’m only going to be able to do it once.”

Jason snorted. “Ye of little faith.”

“Hello,” Damian mustered some of his usual humor and pointed at himself. “Demon.”

“Touche,” Jason allowed him the win. “I guess faith isn’t your strong point.”

Dick pinned the map into place , and after a nod of approval from Damian, he clapped his hands together, and announced, “All right. Time to find him.”

Jason nodded and pulled his athame from his back pocket. Sitting on his knees, he leaned forward, holding it above the map, blade pointed downward.

“Are you ready?” Damian asked. From underneath the map, a sigil glowed.

Jason, locking eyes with him, nodded.

Damian closed his eyes and maneuvered his hands above the map, getting a feel for it. He focused on the remaining bits of Tim’s power mixed in with his own, and popped open a weary eye aimed at Jason. “Stab me and I’ll kill you.”

“If I stab you, Dick will kill me,” Jason shot back, and even though he had faith in his reflexes, he shifted a bit.

Damian stared at him a moment longer before his eyes drifted closed again. His energy webbed as he separated Tim’s from his own, calling on it to find its source. His lips quivered and his eyebrows drew inward, and it wasn’t long before his breathing hastened and it was obvious that the spell was taking a toll on him.

“Dami…” Dick asked, and Damian waved him off, eyes clenching as if to concentrate harder. He moved forward, stretching over the map, and, after a quick breath his eyes shot open and he jabbed his finger against a location. “Here.”

Jason stabbed the blade downward, just as Damian yanked his hand away. The moment that it pierced the paper and buried itself in the wood below, a circle shot out from the point, creating a radius that singed its way through the map, and sizzled into the sigil below.

Dick blew some of the charred pieces of map away and sat back, releasing a deep breath. “Got him.”

Jason looked down at the circle-shaped piece of map, bound by his athame. He knew that, once they got there, and he entered the circle himself, he and Tim would both be trapped there, at least until either Dick or Damian released the conjure.

A fluid rush of movement caught his attention, and when he looked up, he saw Damian’s eyes blink shut, just before he tipped forward, going unconscious. Jason fumbled on his knees to keep the teenager from spilling over the sigil, and Dick was tugging Damian up in an instant, looking aggravated and worried all at once.

“We’ve got to figure something out,” Dick said, as he hefted Damian up, almost protectively. “He’s not going to last long like this. He’s got too much power for what little soul he has to manage.”

Jason nodded, but didn’t say anything, because he knew that, and he felt the same. He and Damian hadn’t always gotten along, but they were family now - and not knowing how to save him was driving both he and Dick crazy.

“You two can’t create another diadem? For sure?” Jason wondered out loud.

Dick was settling Damian into bed when he murmured, “He can barely do a containment conjure without collapsing.”

“Good point,” Jason commented, and then he frowned and pushed himself up. “We’ll figure something out. There has to be something we can do.”

“We’re the only ones who have ever used diadems this way,” Dick stated. “So I don’t think we’re going to find anything.”

Jason’s chin lifted, unused to hearing Dick sound so melancholy. Dick seemed to catch himself, and shook his head. “I just meant that we’ll have to think of a solution ourselves.”

“Maybe,” Jason eyed the map. “Or who knows. Maybe Tim might know, now that he seems to be in tune with Ra’s.”

“Maybe,” Dick shrugged, holding Damian’s hand between his fingers as he looked down at the map. “You’re going to be trapped with him. Are you sure you’re okay with that? The circumference of the conjure is what? Fifteen feet, give or take?”

“No, I’m not okay with it,” Jason answered honestly. “But I trust you to help me if he gets out of control.”

A deep sigh escaped Dick, and he ran a hand through Damian’s hair before drifting away from him, towards the door. “Well, let’s not keep Tim waiting. I’ll let Alfred know where we’re headed, and tell him to be here on standby in case the blade needs to be pulled.”

Jason nodded and took one last look at his athame before deciding to get another, and to gather his usual combatants when it came to demons. It was odd, thinking of possible scenarios and ways to take Tim down, but he kept his anger from the night before fueled, sure he would need to use it at some point.

***

“This is bizarre,” Dick thought out loud, climbing out from the passenger seat of Jason’s car. He looked around. “I mean, I guess we both knew we were driving here, but…the municipal district?”

Jason was thinking the same thing as he closed his own door. “You’re the detective, not me.”

“Ex-detective,” Dick threw back, and he paced forward. They’d parked in a somewhat hidden lot a block or so down from where the containment conjure had trapped Tim, and Jason snorted.

“Maybe he was looking for Gordon.” He’d meant it as a joke, but Dick nodded seriously, as though it was something to consider.

“What else would be out this way?” Dick wondered.

Honestly, there were tons of things that could be _out this way_ when it came to Tim and his psychometry, but Jason kept the thought to himself. It was a short walk before they turned onto the sidewalk of a somewhat busier street, and found themselves face to face with the precinct.

Pausing, they gave each other a look, and Jason quirked an eyebrow. “Are you sure this is right?”

“Positive,” Dick told him, gazing up the cement staircase that led to ominous double doors.

“You think he got picked up for something?”

“Not unless he meant to,” came Dick’s reply, and Jason found that he agreed. Tim wasn’t stupid.

Jason frowned, his senses telling him that something wasn’t right. Not that anything seemed to be going right lately, and excusing the fact that Tim made him nervous in general; but there was an odd feeling about the place, and it made his skin feel oddly clammy.

“Hell fire?” he lifted his arm and tugged the sleeve of his jacket back, getting a good look at a spell of goosebumps that littered his forearm. When he looked over to Dick, he saw the same look of apprehension in his features.

“This should be fun,” Dick said, humorlessly.

“After you,” Jason gallantly allowed Dick to ascend the stairs first, and followed behind, scouting the area for anything that seemed suspicious. There was nothing, really. The normal amount of foot traffic for this part of town, which was oddly run down, despite the fact is was where the courthouse was, and police headquarters.

Following Dick inside, Jason stepped beside him, noticing first that the precinct was nearly completely silent. It was eerie, and the front desk was empty. The check-in counters were vacant as well, and Jason felt his hand drift to his pocket, where he had a dagger hidden.

“Security’s down,” Dick said to him, as if reading his mind. The lights flickered as he pointed to a camera positioned in the back corner of the room, meant to capture anyone who entered. “No light.”

Jason eyed it and realized Dick was right. Gotham was behind when it came to state of the art technology, and the surveillance in the precinct consisted of cameras that blinked green when they were on. At the moment, they weren’t lit at all.

A door that would normally have required authorization to enter was propped open. Dick led the way and stepped through to the other side, pressing himself against the wall as he edged down, Jason close behind.

“Smells like blood,” Jason said, his nose scrunching. Dick nodded and poked his head around a corner, and as the color drained from his face, Jason stepped around him, and his teeth clenched together at the sight.

Officers were strewn everywhere, littered down another hallway, like a trail of breadcrumbs. Mostly they seemed unconscious, but with blood smeared on the walls, it was hard to tell.

“Do you think Tim…” Dick started to ask, his tone quiet.

“Don’t know,” Jason pushed past Dick, the same question plaguing his mind. He stepped over a few fallen policemen, pressed his hand flat against the door at the end of the hallway, and pushed it open lightly. It squeaked and Jason hesitated, afraid the sound would bring unwanted attention their way.

A familiar voice filled his ears.

“Finally,” it said. “Get me out of this.”

Jason pushed in the rest of the way and bolted inside, his eyes searching for Tim until they found him standing with his arms crossed over his chest, looking caught between anger and boredom. Gordon was crumpled at his feet, unconscious.

It didn’t compare to the rage that Jason felt building, trying to make sense of what had happened. He opened his mouth to say something - anything - but Tim beat him to the chase.

“Did you kill him?”

Jason raised an eyebrow at the question, caught off guard. He was about to ask who when he heard Dick’s voice shout, and in moments he was whirling around, racing back the way he’d come.

Tim yelled his name, but Jason was already in the hallway, catching himself against a wall, eyeing the thing that loomed above Dick. He’d only ever seen a demon possess a human so massive once before, and, surprised, he breathed a name he hadn’t knownhe remembered.

“Bane?” Just saying it put him on edge. Ever since Tim had fished through his mind, he found himself remembering things more clearly. Details he’d forgotten were slowly coming to life, and Bane was one of them.

The demon looked just as he had when Jason had been a child, muzzled and painted in scars. There were differences though, places where bone seemed to stretch through skin, like they’d broken and refused, making his limbs look grotesque and awkward, even though his muscles looked seemingly superhuman.

Truthfully, it appeared as though Bane had made this particular body last a long time. Too long.

“What the hell?” Jason asked, looking the possession over. To his knowledge, Bane had been exorcized around the same time that Ra’s had fallen into the pit.

“Jason, a little help here!” Dick was attempting to get out of the demon’s reach, but the bodies scattered in the hallway weren’t helping. He tripped backwards over one and fell to the floor, eyes widening as Bane thundered forward, balling his fist and bringing down his arm in an attempt to pummel Dick into the floor.

Jason called out, but Dick was already rolling over. He missed Bane’s blow by a narrow margin, and contents from his jacket pockets came spilling out onto the floor around him.

Spotting a matchbox among the items, Jason’s fingers immediately went to his own jacket pocket, where he kept a flask of holy water.

“Pyre,” he nearly shouted, and Dick looked up to catch his meaning before his eyes snapped down to the matchbox. Deftly missing another attempted blow, Dick snatched up the matches and rolled again, settling with his back pressed to the hard tiled floor.

Bane’s eyes were pure fury as Jason raced forward and swiped the flask through the air, splashing holy water out and over the demon. Dick caught a few drops as well, scrambling to his feet, but he simply wiped his brow and whirled around. He struck a match and turned, meeting Bane’s infuriated scowl just before flinging it his direction.

The fire caught easily, all-consuming, scalding Bane’s mortal flesh. It was a disturbing sight, but even more terrifying was the fact that the demon was still moving. Holy fire usually at least slowed possessions down, but Bane simply stalked forward, unaffected.If anything, his eyes grew crueler.

Jason’s fingers tightened around Dick’s wrist as he pulled him backwards into the room where Tim was trapped. Their eyes met for an instant, until Tim’s darted to Bane who came thundering in from behind, the flames beginning to snuff out.

Tim, apparently agitated, gave Jason a look of judgement. “You _still_ haven’t killed him yet?”

“Working on it,” Jason snapped at him, and yanked the dagger from his jacket pocket, wishing he’d brought something more menacing. He’d only been planning on encountering Tim, and hadn’t really expected to need much more.

“Jason, watch out-” Dick’s voice rang through, and out of instinct, Jason simply moved to the side, gasping when Bane’s decrepit fingers missed him, but his elbow didn’t. It slammed into Jason’s chest, hard, sending him backwards in a rush.

Balance faltering as he tripped backwards, Jason sucked in a breath of air when a sharp pain ratcheted through him, shocking his eyes into widening.

It was the conjure sealing him in.

Jason felt Tim catch him from behind, not quite able to stop his momentum. They both went crashing backwards, until Tim slammed against the wall of the barrier, hissing in pain even though his grip around Jason’s waist tightened. The action had intent, however, because Tim twisted on his feet in a genuine effort to shove Jason behind him and out of harm’s way.

It didn’t work, of course, because of the barrier. Jason simply collided with it, much to Tim’s sudden disbelief.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he deadpanned. “You used the diadem for this trap?”

Jason was still trying to catch his breath from Bane’s hit, and Tim’s disposition seemed to darken. He felt the same as when they’d been by the pit and he’d ripped souls from the demons that had swarmed. Bane was coming at them, and Tim looked from Jason’s eyes to his gut, as if trying to weigh what damage had been done.

“I’m fine,” Jason told him, and it was true. He was going to bruise, but really, the wind had just been knocked out of him.

Tim didn’t seem to believe that, and so he turned, arm outstretched as though he was about to do something dramatic. He paused when a piece of wood came piercing through Bane’s chest, causing the demon to halt, cough, and turn. As he moved he revealed Dick, who had jammed a broken table leg through his gut.

“Exorcise him,” Tim demanded, and Dick simply gave him a look.

From behind him, Jason muttered, “We didn’t come here prepared to exorcise anyone.”

“How sentimental,” Tim rolled his eyes, and turned his attention to Dick. “Get him over here and I’ll do it myself.”

It was rare to see Dick irritated, and the emotion flickered through his eyes just long enough to make Jason nervous.

“We’re not useless, you know,” Dick told Tim, and he held out his hand and motioned for Jason to give him something - Jason knew right away that he wanted to dagger he was holding, and so he tossed his over.

Dick caught the blade as if it were second nature, and Bane was too slow to stop him before he dropped to the ground and lashed out, driving the blade through Bane’s right achilles tendon, and then his left.

The demon howled in frustration as it crumbled forward, and as its flesh clapped against the ground, a desperate groan escaped its throat. Bane’s spirit darted out and disappeared from sight, the way they all did when they abandoned bodies.

Dick stood up and gave the blade a quick whip through the air, sending gooey black blood spraying sideways. When his attention drifted back to Tim and Jason, his aggravation seemed to have dissipated.His eyes flickered south, towards Gordon.

Tim sighed. “He’s fine.”

Jason knelt down and checked for a pulse anyway, and was relieved to find that Tim was right. In fact, Gordon didn’t seem to be hurt at all.

“I put him to sleep,” Tim explained, nonchalantly. “I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to protect him after I figured out that you’d trapped me.”

“You did what?” Jason looked up at him, and Tim simply shrugged.

“I protected him,” Tim sighed, as if he was bored. “He knows something.”

Jason looked even more confused. “What are you talking about?”

Tim’s eyes met his, cold and disarmed, but he simply shrugged again. “I don’t know what he knows. I haven’t looked into it yet.”

Jason’s eyes immediately narrowed at his choice of words, and Dick, taking a deep breath, interrupted to ask, “Was he the only one? The only demon?”

Nodding, Tim leaned back against the invisible barrier and crossed his arms over his chest, still staring at Jason.

“You’re mad,” he said, as if he didn’t understand why.

“You’re not taking his memories,” Jason told him, flat out.

Head tipped to the side, Tim seemed annoyed. “Reading. I don’t _take_ anything, I read.”

Jason felt his temper flare. “You took mine.”

Tim’s expression fell, and it was the first time Jason had seen any semblance of emotion that wasn’t irritation come from the detective, since before the incident in the pit. He decided to play on it, wondering if he could bait Tim with guilt, since he seemed to have plenty of that to spare.

“I thought your whole thing was about helping people,” he said. “But you didn’t help me. You hurt me. Are you really okay with that?”

Jason watched as Tim’s eyes narrowed, and used the silence to remember what Dick and Damian had said about the diadem, and his supposed control over it. He thought about how it had felt in the past to connect with Ra’s’ power and draw it out, and felt his fingers tingle with the memory of the sensation.

“I know what you’re trying to do,” Tim said to him. “It won’t work.”

Jason stood up and gave Dick a sideways glance. “Can you leave us alone for a minute?”

Surprised by the request, Dick raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?” he asked, and Jason simply waved him off, not feeling as nervous as he had before leaving the house.

“I’ll be fine,” he felt sure.

Tim looked between them, and Dick sighed. “I’ll go check surveillance and make sure we’re not in any of the shots.”

It was something to do, and so he left. Tim simply stared at Jason. His eyes were still empty, and Jason felt an odd sort of desperation - he wanted the old Tim back; wanted to see the fight in his eyes that was born from defensiveness and not indifference.

“Come back,” Jason said, simply.

“We’ve already talked about this.”

Jason lifted his arm and his fingers met the cloth of Tim’s shirt, settling on his chest. The unexpected touch made Tim go rigid. Jason took the opportunity to press his palm flat, feeling Tim’s heartbeat pick up, even though his expression didn’t give anything away.

“Come back,” Jason said again, tipping his chin down, making sure that Tim’s eyes didn’t leave his own.

Tim’s fingers circled Jason’s wrist and he frowned. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

Jason thought about it a moment, before he answered, “I get that you like running away. It’s kind of your thing. Those pins in your apartment - places you won’t go back to? Gotham’s not going to be one of them.” He stepped in, closing the gap between them, doing the same thing he always did when he focused his attention on the diadem, as if he was going to draw energy from it.

“We don’t have time for this,” Tim’s tone was cold, but Jason brushed it off.

“On the contrary, we have plenty of time,” he replied. “Are you really that afraid of being alone? That’s what you said before, right? That’s what’s keeping you like this?”

Tim didn’t answer, and so Jason kept going, egging him on. “Seriously, what are you afraid of? What could make you so nervous that you’d rather be like this than the way that you were?”

Tim’s mouth moved, but Jason didn’t catch the word.

“What?” he asked.

Tim’s chest was rising and falling a bit more hastily when he repeated himself.

“You.”

Jason blinked, caught off guard. He shook his head. “What?” And he suddenly felt it, whatever it was - this pull between them, and his fingertips prickled as he began to feel Tim’s energy pooling, emanating like waves of heat before he was forced back, the power acting almost like a wall between them.

“Damnit,” Jason said, letting his lingering surprise dissipate as he shook his hand out, which felt numb from the sudden burst of energy. He’d felt it though, for a split second - the tie that bound them. And Tim knew that he’d felt it, which is why he’d pushed him away.

“We’re clear. Some of the officers are waking up. We’ve got to get out of here,” Dick was back, and Jason glanced at him, his aggravation returning.

“I’m going to need your help,” Jason told him, and then looked at Tim and said, “Hate me all you want; you’ll thank me later.”

Tim didn’t get a chance to look surprised before Jason rushed him, slamming him back against the barrier with just enough force that Dick was able to loop his arms underneath Tim’sand hold him back.

“I won’t be able to help you,” Tim was squirming. “Gordon’s memories are important - you’ve got to let me -”

“No,” Jason pressed up against him, pressing his hands to Tim’s chest again, making sure their skin didn’t touch, saving himself from any psychometry Tim was prepared to throw his way. He tossed Dick an impatient look. “I need you to tell me what to do.”

“You don’t feel it?” Dick asked, referring to the connection.

“Not straight off,” Jason said, wincing as Tim kicked and caught his calf.

Dick was grimacing as well, trying to maintain his grip. “Think of the symbols. What each one means. Repeat the binding words if you need to; picture it inside of him -”

Jason’s eyes snapped closed as he obeyed, trying to block out Tim’s arguments as he retraced his steps and thought of every rune insignia he’d given Tim - every word and command written by his own hand, and he heard Dick yell for him to focus and so he did, clenching his teeth as he repeated the binding words, and reached forward, and - he felt it. It was like a tether that he grabbed ahold of, and all at once, he felt like Tim’s power was his own.

It was a steady current of red hot intensity, all within his reach. Usually, when he was drawing it out, he only saw bits and pieces, but this time, it was like an ocean, and he felt as though he held its reigns.

His eyes snapped open, suddenly calmed, and he found Tim staring at him. He’d stopped struggling and looked caught between being livid and terrified.

“Let me speak to Ra’s,” Jason commanded.

Tim simply glared at him, until Jason, tone colder, said, “Now.”

The change was almost instant, and Tim’s head rolled briefly before his attention drifted up, and Ra’s’ words escaped his mouth.

“This certainly took you long enough,” the demon complained. “Are you ready to perform the stratagem?”

Jason’s expression soured. “No stratagem. Whatever you screwed up - fix it.”

Ra’s had Tim looking irritated. “You should really perform the stratagem, Jason.”

“The day I take your advice is the day hell freezes over,” Jason barked at him. “Now go back and undo whatever you did, or so help me, I’ll force all of this power back in myself.”

Ra’s looked at him, through Tim’s eyes, almost sizing him up, weighing the threat before he sighed and shrugged. “Fine,” he stated. “But you’ll have to force the power back anyway. I’d created a pool of energy for him, and it ripped open. I can contain it again, but you’ll have to be the one to forceit back.”

“Fine,” Jason said, and he exhaled through his nose, snapped his eyes shut, and focused on that ebbing flow of energy that seemed to engulf him. He’d done so many pulls that gathering the energy was almost second nature, and he carefully began stringing it back into Tim, past his diadem, where he assumed Ra’s was piecing it together.

“I can’t completely mend it,” Ra’s was telling him, with Tim’s voice. It was almost a warning. Jason took it with a grain of salt.

It wasn’t a long process, but it was a tiring one, and as Jason pushed the last wisps of energy through, he realized that, to a great extent, Ra’s was helping to keep Tim alive. He had been circulating his power, at least as well as he could, protecting Tim from it, keeping it from overpowering him. And when then whatever pool he had created had erupted, he’d lost that control - and Tim had as well.

It was an eerie thought, thinking how close the two were, and how they practically shared Ra’s’ demonic power.

As Ra’s faded out and Tim regained control, he left Jason with ominous words.

“You really should have listened to me, Jason.”

Jason hated to admit it, but Ra’s didn’t seem to be lying.


	20. Chapter 20

“Jason,” Dick said, urgently. “You’ve got to release it. Let go of your hold on the bond.”

Jason could see Tim shaking, teeth clenched together in pain. He struggled to pull away, to release his control over the diadem, but he wasn’t quite sure how.

“Jason, you’ve got to back off,” Dick was telling him, and when Tim started gasping for breath, he realized there was no way for him to be delicate about it. He tore himself away, and as his connection with Tim broke, a searing pain struck his very core.

It was a burning sensation that set his nerves on fire. His skin prickled at the feeling, and Jason found himself scratching at his arms, doing his best to make the sharp, tingling feeling go away. Jason blinked a few times, his vision white, and his heart thudded sluggishly as he swallowed back the aftershock of how intensely he’d felt the bond between them tear.

When the world came back into focus, Jason saw that Dick had sunk to the floor. Tim had as well, but he’d fallen against the conjure’s invisible barrier, propped against it, slumped and looking nearly unconscious. It wasn’t until Jason saw that Tim’s eyes were open, glassy, and distant, that he felt himself react; he dropped to his knees and leaned in close to the younger man, trying to meet Tim’s deadened gaze.

“Hey,” he said, trying to sound gentle about it, even though his heart was racing. “Tim?”

No response.

“He’s out?” Dick asked from behind Tim, crawling forward. The uneasiness that Jason felt was obviously catching, and a seed of panic was beginning to sprout between them.

“Tim, look at me,” Jason tried again, waving his hand in front of Tim’s vacant eyes. There was still no reaction; Jason hoped that his decision to let Ra’s “fix things” hadn’t resulted in breaking the man in front of him.

“His hand,” Dick noticed it first; Tim’s bare fingers on the cool tiled flooring. Jason was quick to move, and he grabbed the sleeve of Tim’s shirt, breaking the contact. It was odd to see the change occur so abruptly; Tim’s eyes suddenly flickered with life, and he gasped, sucking in deep breaths of air like a drowning man.

“Tim?” Jason asked again, trying to get a coherent response.

He hadn’t really considered that, for Tim, it was like a reset button had been hit. It was as if something loud had exploded near him, and all of Jason’s words were muffled, like an echo stretched over too far a distance.

Jason.

Tim remembered the name, recalled his face. There was no way he could forget those eyes, either. But there were other things he knew now, too - things he didn’t want to know; things that haunted Jason and would now haunt him because he’d taken them by stealing Jason’s memories.

Tim went white-knuckled and gripped at his pants, stunned as he was forced to accept the reality of everything he’d done. Goosebumps erupted on his skin as he recalled pulling souls, his fingers sinking into decaying flesh. The desperate look in Jason’s eyes when he realized that Damian might die - it preyed on Tim’s conscience like a wild thing, and the ghostlike feel of Jason’s hands against him, combined with the heady odor of hell water made his stomach turn.

And then there were Jason’s eyes again, vividly aware, challenging Tim to leave the manor - and he’d taken that challenge. He’d also done the one thing that could break any chance Jason had of ever really trusting him.

He cursed, and his words were barely audible. Jason’s past was a bright room with a door barely cracked open, and the small view he’d gotten made him crave more. It was an odd sensation, and one he wasn’t particularly proud of considering the circumstances.

“Is he okay?” Dick was worried; his tone made it obvious.

“I don’t know,” Jason answered. More than worried, he sounded on guard.

Tim wasn’t surprised. He clenched his eyes shut, inwardly thinking, damn it. It had been a long time since he’d lost control - several years. It never left a pleasant feeling when he came back, but this time was worse - he’d done worse things than he had in the past.

From the recesses of his mind, another voice came forth, assuming more control. _“Welcome back, Timothy.”_

The sound of Ra’s’ voice was a trigger, reminding Tim that the demon was the reason he’d lost control in the first place. He recalled Ra’s’ words; every cruel thing he’d said to make Tim lose his hold, every fear and dark thought he’d brought to life.

Tim’s eyes narrowed and his tone was unearthly cold. “Don’t talk to me.”

His words caught Jason’s attention and Dick’s, too. Jason raised an eyebrow, thinking the words were meant for him. “Excuse me?”

_“If you give me the opportunity to apologize -”_

“I don’t want to hear anything you have to say.”

Dick and Jason exchanged a glance, baffled, until Jason’s expression slowly turned to anger.

“Well, like it or not -”

Tim shot Jason a look that was unintentionally feral. “I’m not talking to you.”

Jason’s face hardened.

Dick frowned. “What?”

“In the pit, Damian said they could talk,” Jason’s tone was low. When he realized he hadn’t been all too clear, he added, “Tim and Ra’s.”

Horror blossomed on Dick’s features. Tim missed the expression, because Ra’s was utterly offended and ranting inside of his head.

_“Don’t try to pretend like you didn’t enjoy the power. I can tell that you did by how desperately you clung to it. Even now, you’re still reaching for it, aren’t you?”_

Tim was, and he hated admitting it. He remembered the warmth of the energy, how it had felt like a blanket around him. How he’d simply known what to do and was able to act on it. He still felt the knowledge lingering, but the confidence behind it had dwindled; it was demonic and caged. Andunreachable.

“I told you once, and I’ll tell you again,” Tim said with conviction. “I don’t want your power.”

Ra’s snorted, undeniably irritated. _“You already have it.”_

“You’re right, I do. And if you ever pull a stunt like that again, I’ll use it to get rid of you.” Tim promised. “I’ll draw you out myself -”

_“You wouldn’t dare! If you did -”_

“I’d die?” Tim swallowed. “I’d rather die than let you -”

A finger flicked Tim on the forehead and he grimaced, his attention snapping back to the world around him, drawn to the intensity of Jason’s intrepid glare.  “This could be my own mortality talking, but I’d rather you not die, thanks.”

The comment caught Tim off guard, making him momentarily speechless.

Jason obviously misread his confusion, however, when he bit out, “The diadem, moron. Literal lifeline connection?” He even gestured between them to emphasize his point.

Words caught in Tim’s throat, and Ra’s said what he was thinking. _“You don’t have the liberty of just dying anymore,”_ the demon’s aggravation was apparent. _“_ _You are not only tied to me, but to him as well.”_

It was an unfortunate truth.

Since he hadn’t yet replied, Jason took the conversation a step further. “Let me make it clear. You better not put my life, or anyone else’s life for that matter, in danger with your naive, stupid-ass plans.”

Resentment was at the forefront of Jason’s words. Tim had started to feel guilty, but Jason’s words were quickly turning that guilt into anger.

From behind Jason, Gordon shifted, groaning as he came to. Dick left Tim’s side to help the commissioner sit up, and Tim shifted back, leery of the older man. He hadn’t done anything to Gordon - he hadn’t had the time, really. When he’d arrived, Bane had already broken into the station.

That’s not to say that he hadn’t had every intention to pillage the commissioner’s memories, but he didn’t want to think about that. He couldn’t remember why he’d needed to.

Clearly irked, Jason eyed Tim, having noticed his reaction.

“What on earth…” Gordon blinked a few times, and Dick held him steady while he took in his surroundings. It didn’t take long for everything to settle, and in an instant, his eyes darted to Tim.

“What _was_ that thing,” the commissioner demanded, and then, his tone lowering, “and what are _you_?”

It was a can of worms that Jason apparently didn’t want opened, because he stepped in front of Tim, effectively blocking Gordon’s view.  It was a tactic to draw the older man’s attention to himself, and it worked.

“You don’t need to worry about him,” Jason swiftly remarked.

“Like hell I don’t,” Gordon’s voice gave rise to his growing uncertainty. “He fought it. Detective Timothy Drake, right? That’s who you are?” He leaned sideways, getting Tim within his eyesight again, causing Jason to roll his eyes.

“That’s his name,” Dick said, deciding to be honest. “He really _is_ a detective. He’s just-”

“I know he is,” Gordon waved Dick off and huffed, “I called his commander to double check. I don’t believe everything I hear, contrary to popular belief. Just like I don’t believe that you all don’t have a clue as to what is going on, or that it doesn’t have anything to do with why I visited you earlier this month.”

“They didn’t know anything, then,” Tim found himself saying, even though he knew it was best practice to keep quiet. Still, he knew he’d come to the station needing something  from Gordon. He just couldn’t remember what. “There’s something else going on,” he concluded.

“Seriously,” Jason said with disbelief. “What would you know?”

Tim turned his attention up, a defiant scowl making his expression icy. “I didn’t say that I _knew_ anything.”

“Do you ever?” Jason voiced.

“Both of you, come on,” Dick’s brows knitted, as he was clearly irked.

To be expected, Gordon was confused, trying to decipher how everyone was interrelated. “Are you working a case for them?”

Jason nearly burst out laughing, as if the thought was inconceivable.  

Dick was quick to douse it, however, when he started to explain. “Tim is…well, for one, he’s psychic. And at the moment, he’s kind of possessed.”

As Gordon turned a stoney stare Dick’s direction, Jason added, “Since we’re telling you everything, apparently,” his jab angled at Dick, “you may as well know that the demon possessing him is Ra’s.”

“What?!” Gordon hissed, looking between them. “How? I helped you back then to make sure this whole thing was good and taken care of -”

“It _was_ taken care of, but there was an accident, and -”

“Where’s Bruce?” Gordon demanded, and Dick sighed quietly, rubbing at his eyes.

“Where do you think he is?” Jason asked. “Not where he’s needed, as always.”

Tipping sideways again, Gordon looked at Tim, eyebrows drawn in. “You look good. What, did you get possessed today?”

Tim remained silent, and Dick chose to answer. “A few weeks ago,” he said reluctantly.

Gordon stared at Tim, blinked, and then gaped. “Is that normal? For him to, you know, be all… _alive_?” He waggled his fingers in Tim’s direction.

In exasperated unison, Jason and Dick both said, “No.”

In all the commotion, Tim had forgotten Ra’s now had free access to his mind, and everything he’d missed out on.

 _“It’s impossible,”_ Ra’s whispered. Tim ignored him, although it sounded strangely like the demon had stumbled onto something. _“There’s no way Bruce would have been so careless…”_

“I hope you know that you’re talking to yourself,” Tim hissed at him, agitated. From above, Jason gave him a look.

“And to all of us, you’re talking to yourself. And by the way, this whole ‘I can communicate with the demon in my head’ thing? We’re going to be talking about it later.”

Gordon looked terrified. “He can talk to Ra’s? Is that normal?”

“Normal is starting to become relative,” Dick answered diplomatically, and Tim was distracted when Ra’s commanded him with an unexpected tinge of seriousness.

_“Ask if they burned her.”_

Tim let the demand sit for a minute, trying to decide what it meant. Ask if who was burned?

 _“Timothy, ask them!”_ Ra’s’ voice was a shout that made Tim wince, and Jason was soon crouching in front of him, looking serious.

“What’s the old man saying?” he questioned.

Tim licked his lips and forced the words out. “Ra’s wants to know if you burned her.”

“Burned who?”

 _“Talia,”_ Ra’s told Tim, exasperated. _“Ask if they burned Talia’s body.”_

“What?” Tim scowled, looking back through the memories he had of Jason’s. There wasn’t much, really. Just a brief glance from young Jason’s eyes, watching as Gordon helped pull her from the fires of the pit.

_“Ask them!”_

Tim’s skin prickled, and he met Jason’s gaze. “He wants to know if you burned Talia.”

Jason nearly rolled his eyes, and tossed a half-baked look of cynicism Dick’s direction. “Of course we did,” Jason snapped, turning his attention back. “What the hell kind of question is that?”

Tim winced and Ra’s fumed. _“Does he know that, or is he just assuming that Bruce did?”_

“Did you see it?” Tim asked, and Jason’s eyes narrowed.

From behind him, Dick said quietly, “I’d already left by that time so I wasn’t there.”

“Well, I wasn’t there either. Only Bruce and…” Jason stopped mid-thought and turned his attention to Gordon.

“I don’t really know what you mean by burned…” the commissioner said, “but if you mean literally…I mean, Bruce and I buried her. She got a plot and everything - he was in love with her.”

The sentiment fell on deaf ears as Jason seemed almost frozen, and Dick’s face reflected the same amount of shock. “There was an actual body in the casket? You’re sure?”

Gordon nodded, perplexed. “Yes, Talia’s. Why are we so upset about this?”

Teeth clenching, Jason twisted to give the commissioner a stern glare. “I know what the deal was, back then - you help us take care of Ra’s and keep the police records on the low, and we leave you alone. But you can’t tell me that Bruce didn’t once tell you what to do if you ever ended up against a possession, one-on-one?”

“Kill it,” Gordon said, starting to look a bit offended.

“And after?” Jason asked.

“Call Bruce.” Gordon answered, anticlimactically. “This is _your_ area of expertise, not mine.”

More upset than angry, Dick shook his head. “Are we really considering that…” he couldn’t even bring himself to finish.

Jason was stiff, and Gordon raised an eyebrow. “I’m not following.”

Ra’s was dead silent, and Tim followed suit. It was Dick that spoke, since Jason had become the poster child for disbelief. “Demons don’t always die when their host does. Depending on how powerful they are, they can live in the body for a while, dormant…until they find a new host.”

“So you burn the bodies?” Gordon questioned.

“Yes,” Jason reassured. “We burn the bodies.”

 _“Not all of them, apparently,”_ Ra’s ventured, though he didn’t seem as upset as he had before. He was back to being calm and collected, which was eerie.

Tim’s wariness must have shown, because Jason kicked his shoe, garnering his attention. “What’s he saying?”

“Nothing,” Tim decided to say. Ra’s’ snarkiness wasn’t worth the battle, and Jason’s attitude wasn’t exactly prompting him to be compliant.

 _“It certainly would explain why I’m being hunted,”_ Ra’s was saying, mostly to himself. Tim didn’t find that a pleasant conclusion, and Ra’s rambled on. _“I’m sure the demon I put inside of her was simply waiting for a good go at me.”_

Muffled noises sounded from the hallway and Dick looked to Gordon. “What do you want us to do?”

Straight-faced, Gordon looked at him. “You already erased the security cameras, didn’t you?”

Dick was embarrassed and scratched the back of his head. “Well, yeah…”

“Then just get out. And keep him out of sight. I’m not the only one that saw what he did,” Gordon tossed a glance Tim’s direction. “My officers will be looking for you - at least the ones that saw you. The way you fought that thing…it was anything but human.”

Tim remembered the power he’d summoned to fight with Bane, briefly, before he’d managed to get past him, and to Gordon. Of course, by then he’d gotten caught in the conjure, and he could distinctly remember at least two officers that had dodged through the room and gotten a good look at his face.

Dick pulled his cell phone from his pocket, only to tell the person on the other line to break the containment conjure. Within moments, it disappeared, and Tim, who had been leaning against it, fell backwards. He caught himself, quick to make sure that his hands didn’t chance a confrontation with the floor for a second time. He shifted to stand, though he noticed that Jason didn’t lend him a hand to help.

He was disappointed, somehow.

Gordon looked his age as Dick helped him to his feet, and he pointed past an overturned desk towards a door in the back that was slightly ajar. “Go through there,” he advised. “And when I call later, because I will be calling, I expect someone to pick up.”

“Of course,” Dick accepted politely, his eyes doing one more sweep of the room before he started their escape, Jason and Tim following behind. The station was whirring with activity, and so they quickly found their way out onto the streets, doing their best to blend. Out of all of them, Dick looked the worst for wear, splattered all over in blackened blood, and Jason kept throwing cautious looks Tim’s way, fully expecting him to bolt at any given moment.

Tim thought about it. He wondered how far he’d get before Jason caught up, and what that conversation would be like.

As though reading his mind, Jason warned him, “Don’t even think about it.”

Tim didn’t say anything. He wasn’t sure what to say. The truth was simple - as much as he was furious at Ra’s, he hadn’t wanted Jason to bring him back. It had felt good to just act and know what to do, to have the answers.

To be in control.

Now he was back where he’d started, staring at the backs of two men he felt he hardly knew, one of which he was beginning to feel inexorably drawn to. It was an odd sensation, one he couldn’t explain. It terrified him, because now he knew what it meant - that Jason could command him, if he ever felt there was a need.

A sudden tiredness made his vision blur, and as they turned down an alleyway, Tim leaned heavily against the brick siding. Slowing to a stop, he dropped to his knees, feeling dizzy.

 _“Power withdrawal,_ _”_ came Ra’s’ voice, but more than trying to be conversational, it sounded like Ra’s had simply been thinking out loud.

Agitated, Tim pushed himself up, pulling back suddenly when a hand gripped his elbow in an offer to help. It was the second time he’d felt sheer surprise and panic at Jason’s touch. Without meaning to snap, he said, “I’m fine,” and attempted to continue after Dick, who had stopped a few feet ahead of them.

Annoyed, Jason grabbed Tim’s elbow again. “Dick, can you bring the car around?” It almost seemed like Jason was trying to get him alone.

“I said, I’m _fine_ ,” Tim insisted, an edge to his voice that was a clear sign that he was done with Jason treating him like some special case.

“Then keep up,” Jason stated coldly. He turned and stalked past Dick, who gave Tim a questioning look.

Tim wasn’t sure what to say - there was nothing he could say. He was mad at himself and upset with Jason. He was exhausted, confused, and to top it off, once again feeling as though his life hung in some otherworldly balance.

Dick held out a hand to him and Tim waved it off, walking past to follow in Jason’s footsteps. He heard gravel crunch behind him and knew that Dick was close behind, and together in silence, they made their way to Jason’s car.

***

Damian was in the process of taking books and tools back to the library when Jason, Dick, and Tim got in. He’d followed them to the kitchen, where Jason snagged a water bottle from the fridge, and the uncomfortable silence that surrounded them seemed to catch Damian’s attention.

“It went well, I take it?” he asked, slightly cynical but mostly curious. Dick had been pleased to see him awake, but there was a glimmer in his eyes that spoke to worlds of worry.

“Shouldn’t you be resting?”

“Shouldn’t _you_ be reassuring me that the psychic isn’t going to try killing me again?”

Jason snorted, and Tim sank back and out of the limelight, not needing constant reminders of everything he’d done. He was exhausted, and his head had been aching the entire drive back to the manor.

“Jason brought Tim back,” Dick admitted, throwing a slightly apologetic look in Tim’s direction before addressing Damian directly. “But there’s something I need to talk with you about. Do you want to come with me, upstairs?”

Jason finished a gulp and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “This is something we all need to talk about,” he corrected.

Dick took on the protective demeanor he usually did when things came to Damian. “Jay, I think maybe I should be the one-”

“Just tell him, Dick,” Jason’s mood was piss-poor, and his attitude made Damian pace to the island, where he set the things he’d been carrying down. He was all ears, with an assertive glimmer to his eyes.

“Tell me what?”

Even Tim felt the mood change and was nervous for how Dick was going to present what they’d learned.

They all watched Dick as he scraped his hands through his hair, taking a deep sigh. When his arms dropped back down, and pressed his palms against the side of the island opposite of Damian, looking indecisive. He seemed to be thinking about how best to broach the subject.

Impatient, Jason slammed his water bottle onto the counter. “Talia was buried.”

Dick glared at him, and Damian’s eyes went wide.

“What?”

“You heard me,” Jason eyed him. “A demon dressed like your mother might be traipsing around Gotham at this very moment.”

“Jason!” Dick exclaimed, offended by his insensitivity. Jason simply shrugged, uncaring; his mood was dark.

“What makes you think that?” Damian glanced between them. To a stranger, he would have seemed unaffected. But there was raw emotion brewing beneath his intense gaze.

“It’s a long story, but…Gordon confirmed that they buried her. Of course, we’ll need to exhume the body before we jump to any conclusions…” Dick tried to reason.

“The commissioner told you that?” Damian asked, as if that were all the proof he needed. Gordon was, after all, an honest man.

Dick frowned. “Yeah, he did. But Dami…”

“It’s fine,” Damian took a deep breath. “I…I mean, I didn’t even know her.”

Dick didn’t seem relieved when he redirected, “We can talk about it more tonight. Is Alfred going to make dinner?”

“We weren’t sure when you would all be home, so I told him not to worry about it. He’s in the library, putting back everything you two dragged out.” He motioned across the island, which had maps, texts, and the Black Books that he’d been carrying.

“So, every man for himself,” Jason waved off. Fending for himself in terms of food didn’t seem like something he wasn’t used to. “Final question. Who’s babysitting? Me?” He pointed to Tim.

“I don’t need to be babysat,” Tim said, irritated because he wasn’t going to run.

“Of the four people in this room, who, in the past day, has: A, tried to kill Damian, B, stolen memories, and lastly, C, ended up on the Gotham PD’s APB?” Jason made a show of searching before his attention landed on Tim and he gasped dramatically, “Oh, I know. You.”

“Oh, please,” Tim glared, mostly because he felt bad enough as it was. It’s not like it had been his choice, or that he’d had any control over what he’d done. He could feel the tension between him and Jason growing, and Dick and Damian were doing an expert job at staying quiet. Damian even made a show of sighing deeply and unloading the things he’d been carrying onto the countertop, where he idly tapped a piece of chalk against the granite surface.

“You’re staying with me.” Jason’s words were final.

Tim had been struggling to hold his tongue all afternoon, and Jason’s dismissal was the last straw. He felt his temper flare for the first time in a long time, and his arms dropped to his sides, falling about as far as his mood. “What are you even so upset about, anyway? That I saw one memory of yours? Trust me, Jason, compared to everything else I’ve seen, it _wasn’t_ special.”

“Oh, God,” Dick slapped a hand to his forehead. Damian’s eyes widened as if not even he would have gone that far. He took up doodling on the counter and made a show of distracting himself by doodling, not interested in becoming a part of the argument about to ensue.

Jason froze, and the room seemed to turn as cold as his disposition. “Did you really just say that?”

“I’m serious,” Tim told him, not backing down. “It’s not like it was some big secret that no one knew about -”

“ _You_ didn’t know about it,” Jason snapped back. “And what, it’s just okay to screw with people’s heads, so long as the information you take isn’t something you think is important?”

Tim’s glare intensified. “I didn’t say that.”

“Okay, okay,” Dick took a step forward, but Damian tugged at his sleeve to stop him. At the same time, Damian picked up an athame from the pile on the table, and jabbed its blade onto the island’s surface. A fiery circle shot up from the floor surrounding Jason and Tim, giving them about the entire kitchen’s worth of space, before the orange glow dissipated.

Jason stared at him in disbelief, and Damian was already pulling Dick beyond the circle’s boundaries.

“Did you just do another containment conjure?” Dick asked, trying to peek back and see what Damian had drawn on the island.

Damian didn’t answer, but it was obvious that he had. So obvious that Jason stormed after him, livid when he collided with an invisible wall, just a few inches before Damian stopped and turned to deliver him a sour look.

“You two obviously need time to work things out,” the teenager told him. He was nearly a foot shorter than Jason, but his presence was a force of its own. “I did not spend all morning reading every book in our library to have you come back acting like this.”

“Damian, break the conjure,” Jason demanded. If looks could kill, Damian would have been long dead.

When the teen didn’t budge, Jason lifted his eyes to Dick, who simply held up his hands in surrender. “I’m not a part of this.”

“You’re standing right in front of me, in the _middle_ of it,” Jason grated.

Dick simply pursed his lips, held his hands higher, and intentionally took a step to the side.

Jason wasn’t amused.

Damian pointed at the fridge. “You have food. You’ll be fine.” And with that, he mimicked high-fiving Dick’s hand just to take hold of it, and led him out of the room.

Silence lingered for all but a second.

“Maybe he’s right,” Tim said thickly. He’d kept quiet during the whole ordeal, internally stewing. His mind lingered on the last thing Jason had said to him. “So, go on. You were saying something about me screwing with people’s heads?”

Jason slowly shifted his attention back, his annoyance flaring. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I was. Your self-restraint is shit.”

“It’s really not,” Tim bit back, which earned him a sour glare.

“Are you sure I’m the person you should be saying that to?” Jason shifted on his feet and quirked an eyebrow. An unsaid _“After what you did to me?”_ weighted his question.

Jason’s words rubbed Tim’s guilt raw, and so the emotion turned into something else entirely.  It was hard for him not to be upset about something that was constantly being shoved into his face. “Seeing as I didn’t kill you, can we move on?”

“ _Move on_?” Jason scoffed. “Just because I’m not dead doesn’t mean I’m not traumatized.” For once he looked truly offended, and while Tim knew what he had done was wrong, he couldn’t help but feel like the incident was being blown out of proportion. Especially when Jason knew that he hadn’t been himself.

“One memory, Jason,” Tim held up one finger to demonstrate. “I saw _one_ memory of yours.”

“An important memory. A personal one.”

Tim’s face fell oddly expressionless. “I’ve seen a lot of _personal_ memories, Jason.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that,” Jason nodded. “How many others did you see while you were prancing around downtown? Learn anything fun and confidential from the police department?”

Tim was clearly insulted. “I didn’t take any memories from them.”

“Sure you didn’t,” Jason broke in. “You just borrowed them, right?”

Chest rising with a combination of fury and resentment, Tim growled, “What is wrong with you? Do you think that I chose to be this way?”

“What way is that?” Jason raised an eyebrow, his tone sharpening with every word he breathed. “Completely unpredictable, or completely lacking control?”

“It’s not like I woke up one day and could suddenly see people’s memories, Jason. I was born this way, and -”

“And somehow you still manage to be complete shit at controlling yourself,” Jason interrupted snappily. “You’d think that after all these years -”

Tim’s hand flew to his chest in defense. “I can control my ability just fine. It’s Ra’s that’s the problem.”

A laugh trickled from Jason’s mouth, and there was nothing pleasant about it. “So of course it made perfect sense for you to keep your little talkfests secret, right? What, did he promise you something? Offer you a little this or that for your services?”

“You’re really asking me that?” Tim’s entire body was tense, like a bowstring pulled too tight.

“Yes, I’m _really_ asking you that,” Jason egged, as if looking for a fight. Tim was tempted to give in; he was seconds from losing his composure, but he kept it, if only by a thread.

“The answer is no,” Tim contended. “He never offered me anything. And even if he had, I’m not bribed that easily.”

“Ah, yes, let’s talk about your righteousness,” Jason taunted. “Detective Timothy Drake: won’t take a bribe, but watch yourself, he just might _steal_ your memories.”

Tim regarded Jason flatly, his expression clearly unamused. “Back to that again,” Tim shook his head, his patience lost. “What do you want me to say, Jason? Do you want me to tell you that I love it? That I’m addicted to the convenience of it; to touching someone or something and immediately learning everything that I need to know?”

”Well, you’re certainly not _against_ it,” Jason pointed out, and Tim rolled his eyes.

“My mother warned me about people like you,” Tim told him. “She told me to stay away from the ones I couldn’t read.”

“Yeah, well, they’re not really profitable, now, are they?” Jason quipped, and Tim looked shocked that he would go that far.

“I do _not_ use my ability for profit,” he contested, skirting the fact he knew that Jason’s comment had been more of a low blow towards his parents.

“It’s your job,” Jason retorted, matter-of-factly.

“Yeah,” Tim avowed. “It’s my job to help people, unlike your job -”

“Excuse me,” Jason butted in. “How is exorcising demons _not_ for the greater good?”

Tim bit his lips, biting back a crude comment about how purging demons didn’t mean a damn thing if the person possessed always ended up dead. Instead, he argued, “How is putting murderers behind bars not for the greater good?”

Jason exclaimed, “Because you can’t take away someone’s freedom of choice for what _you_ consider to be the greater good!”

As soon as the words left Jason’s mouth, he seemed to realize the hypocrisy in them.

It took Tim the smallest of moments to jump at the opportunity. “You’ve never given me a choice.”

Jason snorted. “People usually don’t get to choose whether or not to be possessed.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Tim threw back. “The diadem, and everything else. You didn’t let me decide. You chose for me.”

The flame in Jason’s eyes had been doused somewhat, but he stubbornly retorted with, “It was the only solution at the time.”

A choked laugh escaped Tim’s mouth, and turned his attention away from Jason and licked his lips. “It was the only solution you _gave_ me, sure,” he muttered under his breath.

“I’m not the bad guy, here!” Jason snapped, and the intensity of his words brought Tim’s eyes back to his own. “Ra’s is. And the greater good is making sure he’s in Hell!”

A cold feeling prickled at Tim’s skin, and one of his most prominent fears surfaced. “So what, would you kill me if it meant you’d be rid of him?” Tim demanded, and knowingly supplied, “You would, and you wouldn’t think twice.”

“Uh, I would _definitely_ think twice,” Jason frowned. “We share a diadem. If you go, I go.” He said it like it was obvious.

“But if we didn’t share the diadem, you’d do it,” Tim denoted, crossing his arms over his chest. “And that’s why I can’t trust you.”

“And there we have it,” Jason threw his hands in the air. “Trust issues! The core of this entire conversation.”

“Yeah, let’s talk about them,” Tim snapped at him. “You’ve been a jerk to me since the moment we first met. Your _fear_ of psychics, or whatever -”

“- is reasonable, if you look at the damage you’ve done.”

“I haven’t done anything. I came to Gotham, _you_ screwed up the gates. I can’t be held accountable for that. Take it up with Bruce, and whatever he has or hasn’t taught you.”

“Don’t bring him into this. Besides, your mommy and daddy issues are _through the roof_ -”

“At least my _daddy issues_ are about my _actual_ father!”

Jason lunged. It wasn’t a pretty movement, full of impulse and outrage. Tim even seemed surprised by it, and he stumbled backwards alongside the cabinetry, narrowly escaping being pinned in the corner by rounding the island. Jason grabbed for him and caught enough of Tim’s shirt between his fingers to yank him back full force.

Tim nearly lost his balance, but he caught himself on the counter - and felt an agonizing, electric chill consume him. His bare skin had met with one of the Black Books that Damian had left behind, and there were so many disturbing images that flooded his mind that he didn’t realize he’d almost blacked out until Jason was hauling him backwards, arm around his waist, practically dragging him towards the sink.

Cursing, Jason pinned Tim between himself and the basin, throwing on a steady rush of cold water before submerging Tim’s hand beneath the flow. Tim swallowed down the nausea as Jason rubbed at his hand and pressed closer to him from behind.

“Damn it,” Jason breathed against Tim’s neck.

“I’m fine,” Tim muttered, but Jason kept at it, dousing both of their hands under freezing water, until Tim was sure his own had gone completely numb.

“The books are protected,” Jason told him.

Tim assumed that meant that demons couldn’t touch them, and guessed that Jason thought he’d been burned. Which was strange, because Tim didn’t feel anything at all.

“You don’t?” Jason asked, and Tim hadn’t realized he’d spoken aloud. Jason pulled their hands from the running water and held Tim’s up, examining his palm, which looked completely fine.

“What the…” Jason thumbed Tim’s palm, looking for evidence of a burn, or even a simple red mark, but nothing of the sort existed. “How is there not…”

Tim reached forward and turned the faucet off before pushing back against Jason; a silent demand for space. It worked, because Jason was suddenly separate from him, his warmth removed as he stepped away.

After a stagnant moment where neither of them spoke, Jason swallowed. “I’m not apologizing for that.”

As was common practice, Tim willed the remaining images and emotions from his contact with the book away, and turned to face Jason, leaning back against the sink. He was beginning to feel like he had earlier. Weak.

“You don’t apologize for anything, so I’m not surprised,” Tim told him, though most of the fight in his tone had faded away.

Jason rolled his eyes. His temper seemed to have cooled, and he pressed a palm to his forehead, feeling a headache begin to take root. “You’re the one who hasn’t apologized to me,” he replied, sounding despondent.  

Tim opened his mouth to argue when he realized that Jason was right. For whatever reason, the guilt had been chewing away at him, hidden beneath the brief surge of anger, but he still hadn’t bothered to say he was sorry.

Then again… “You never really gave me the chance.”

“Oh, okay, let’s pencil you in,” Jason held up his hand, and pretended to write on it with an invisible pen. “Tuesday, eight o’clock at night, apology from Tim. Oh, look –“ Jason pointed at the digital clock on the microwave. “You’re right on time.”

Tim frowned, but Jason seemed intent on extracting an apology, so he took a deep breath and offered, “I’m sorry.”

“ _Real_ sentimentality behind that one,” Jason mocked. “I can feel your sympathy just –“

“I wasn’t done,” Tim interrupted curtly. He captured Jason’s eyes with his own, and continued. “The truth is that…I can’t control myself when I turn off. That’s what Dick calls it, right?” Tim thought about it a moment, and then went on. “Something just…I don’t know how to explain it. I’ve done it since I was a kid and the only person who could really snap me out of it was my mom.”

Jason listened, albeit it was obvious he was searching for the rest of his hard-earned apology in Tim’s words.

Caught in his thoughts, Tim kept speaking. “I’ve never hurt anyone. I don’t know why it was different with you. So…as much as you feel offended, I feel…I mean, how do I stop that from happening again?”

This time, Jason didn’t throw some snarky comment in Tim’s direction. It occurred to him that he hadn’t really considered Tim could fear his own ability – especially because he used it so often.

“I don’t know what to do with you,” Jason told him. “You’re not like any other possessed person I’ve met. Well, a little like Talia, but…I mean, you’ve got a demon in you that would do anything to see Wayne Manor burned to the ground with all of us in it, and you’re alive, walking and talking like it’s business as usual. You’re psychic, and you’re kind of admitting to me that you feel like you’re as dangerous as I think. How am I supposed to feel about that?”

“Not afraid,” Tim divulged. “It’s like a reflex, I think, and it’s always been the same. I turn off, I take what I need, and I leave. Then, one day, I snap back.”

Jason remembered his earlier conversation with Dick and Damian, where Damian had presented the theory that Tim had more power than his body could handle, which caused him to pocket his emotions. But if Tim had experienced these episodes since he was a kid - that would have been long before he’d encountered Ra’s.

What did that mean?

The idea bugged him, but so did another thought.

“We need to talk about the diadem,” Jason said.

Waving Jason off, Tim shook his head. “I don’t want to talk about the diadem.”

Jason’s demeanor turned more serious. “Too bad. We need to.”

“There goes my freedom of choice again,” Tim glowered.

“I’m trying to apologize,” Jason interjected, which brought Tim to silence. “I used it on you without knowing everything about it. I didn’t know…” Jason took a steadying breath and admitted, “I didn’t know it could be used to control you. I thought it was just a way to regulate Ra’s’ power. If I had known -”

“You would have still done it,” Tim said to him. “Let’s not kid ourselves.”

“Yes, I would have,” Jason reeled it back to add, “But I would have told you.”

Tim shrugged. “Well, Ra’s didn’t tell me that part either.” When Jason gave him a curious look, he explained, “After you created it, he told me that any type of exorcism would kill me, and also that the diadem was a binding. Not just between you and I.”

The thought sounded ridiculous, or at least that’s how Jason appeared to feel about it. “What, it bound you and Ra’s together?”

“So he says,” Tim replied.

“That would have been good to know,” Jason sighed, his tone tight with frustration. There wasn’t much accusation in his words, so Tim let it slide. Instead, he decided to be as honest as their situation would allow.

“I don’t like feeling so in the dark. If you’re really trying to help me, you’re going to have to at least try to trust me.”

Jason’s eyes flickered up to meet his. “Are you going to open up a bit? I can’t trust you if you’re always lying, or deciding not to tell me things. It’s probably the detective side of you. Or maybe you’ve just been this way since you were a kid, but honestly? Secrets don’t make friends.”

“Neither does having psychometry or being possessed with a demon, apparently,” Tim rounded, and then, as he spotted Jason’s frown, he shook the tension from his tone. “I can try.”

“Then I will, too.”

It was an odd pact; it lifted tensions slightly, though both men knew that the only way to know if honesty was possible between them was a test of time.

“How long are we going to be stuck in here?” Tim asked, yawning as he looked around.

“Long enough for Damian to think I won’t beat him to a pulp for trapping us here in the first place,” Jason griped.

Tim seemed to think about that a moment, and then looked at the tile, as if gauging how good of a bed it would make. He then looked at his bare hands and groaned. “I don’t want to be trapped here all night.”

“Oh, believe me, if he keeps us here all night, I’ll –“

Jason’s words seemed to fade, even though Tim could still see his lips moving. A high pitched note made him flinch – it was a sharp sound that reminded him of audio feedback. His gut twisted and he sucked in a breath.

Something invisible seemed to punch it right back out of him, and Tim gasped. The heat from his body was being drawn outward, and a strange feeling overwhelmed him.

When he had first met Damian, Tim had realized that the teenager had a certain presence. He radiated power; just enough that Tim knew that something was off about him. Tim had gotten used to it over time, and so he had nearly forgotten that it existed.

But now, it was gone; only a hollow feeling lingered where it had once been.

Tim gritted his teeth - suddenly, he could feel the house. Every nook and every corner, and the fire from the pit felt as if it was lit beneath him. He could feel footsteps two floors up, and as his mind flooded with a disturbing amount of exertion, Jason grabbed his hands and shook him.

Tim’s mouth moved to form words but he couldn’t hear them – was he even speaking? The world was slow motion around him, and eventually it caught up, and the sharp sound faded out, and Tim was left feeling normal, except for the fact that he felt like Ra’s’ energy was being yanked out of him like a rope, much too quickly.

“Tim –“

“Damian –“ Tim breathed. “I don’t know, it’s just, it’s Damian. The house – I could feel it, it’s like it’s sucking the life out of me –“

Jason’s gaze grew all too serious and he yanked Tim’s arm up to look at his skin, which was starting to show small red designs that were oddly intricate.

“Shit,” Jason pushed himself up and went for the blade on the table that Damian had used to keep them trapped. He reached for it, but as he touched the handle, it shocked him and he was forced a few steps back. He tried again, this time getting a good grasp on it, cringing as the athame rejected him, until he was finally forced to let go.

“Damn it,” Jason paced, and Tim hugged his hands to his stomach, trying to will away the pain he was feeling. He waited for Jason to come back, and crouch in front of him. It was amazing how calm he could look, when he was anything but.

“Okay,” Jason said. “This is what’s happening.”

Tim nodded, though he had a vague idea.

“Damian was only able to keep supporting the seal because he had some of your power. That power must have run out. The seal needs that power, so it’s trying to make up for the loss by pulling from you.”

Tim nodded and closed his eyes, breathing through another bout of searing pain.

Jason shook his head. “And, of course, it _can’t_ because of the diadem.” He was up and moving again in an instant, searching the kitchen for something. Tim suspected he was looking for a phone, since he knew personally that no amount of force could free them from the containment conjure.

 _“It’s starting_ _,”_ Ra’s’ voice came from out of the blue, and his words lingered eerily.

It was then that the power went out, and the manor dipped into darkness.


	21. Chapter 21

The electric blue numbers on Dick’s alarm clock were one of the reasons Damian rarely stayed the night; they kept him awake. Not that Dick was an advocate for him sleeping over in the first place.

Tonight was different. It was one of the rare occasions that Dick hadn’t given him the boot, though Damian suspected it was only because Dick had fallen asleep and wasn’t awake to usher him out.

Damian craved nights like this, and had always thought that his primal need to be near Dick was a result of the diadem. Just being close set something within him on fire, though it was a flame he had learned to kindle himself, because he wanted more, and Dick would only give so much.

The rest, Damian took.

He was selfish, and possessive. He wanted, and lusted, and was spoiled with attention. It was never enough though, and now, with the bond between them broken, Damian realized that the diadem had nothing to do with it. The feelings that made him feel weak, despite being one of the more powerful demons that existed on earth, were all his own.

It was a shame that he’d needed to break the bond to understand that. It was also a pity that Dick was being forced to suffer through the outcome; of course, Damian knew he bore the worst effects, at least physically. But for Dick, it was different, and Damian could see the guilt in his eyes, and it drove him insane.

He was used to feeling like Dick owed him something, not the other way around. And so, on nights like this, when Damian managed to stay past the moment that Dick’s eyes slipped closed, he would just watch him, and wonder, if one of his more divine powers were turning back time, how he could fix things.

The truth was that there wasn’t a way. Not an easy way. Dick wasn’t strong enough to recreate the diadem. Of course he wouldn’t admit to it, but Damian knew that was the reason he hadn’t offered to do so already. Souls could only be put through so much in one lifetime, and Dick’s had been stretched thin enough as it was.

Damian could see it in Dick’s eyes sometimes; a haunted look, like he was putting himself back together. Diadems were dangerous, and if Damian ever got the opportunity, he’d burn the pages of the Black Books that spoke of them.

If he had known that Jason had been asked to do one on Tim, he would have intervened. Not that he wanted the detective to die; simply that he wanted Jason to live. He was a jerk most of the time, but he’d always been there, and if anything, Damian respected loyalty.

And Tim…Tim was a puzzle. One that aggravated him, and kept him on his toes. Tim was smart; too smart. He adjusted too quickly. His human body could take too much. Plus, he was psychic, or so the group had coined it, but Damian could sense that wasn’t entirely true. And while he certainly did have some sort of mental phenomena, it was outside the realm of what normal psychics were capable of.

Tim wasn’t looking into people’s minds. He was pulling knowledge from their souls.

Damian snorted at the thought, and how dramatic it sounded. He turned onto his back and tore his attention from the alarm clock, choosing instead to stare at the darkened ceiling above. He could hear Dick breathing beside him, and if he focused on it, he could even make out the steady thrum of his heart.

Tim was a mystery, and Ra’s was a loaded weapon. Damian felt like they had the devil himself living under the Wayne Manor roof, and he was on edge, waiting for the moment something would happen. He was sure that Jason felt the same; it was Dick who was the outlier.

He trusted Tim, and Damian had promised to try and do the same. A horrible avowal, because Damian had been lying through his teeth. Or maybe he hadn’t - he trusted Tim more than he trusted Ra’s, obviously. Or maybe he only trusted his ability to take down Tim, if necessary, above his grandfather. And now, as weak as he was, he wasn’t really sure how well he’d fare against either.

Something sharp tugged at Damian’s being; it wasn’t a physical pain. It was a sudden jolt, as though someone had snuck up on him and shouted, and forced surprise from him. His normally placid heartbeat skittered, and he jumped up, eyes searching the room, alert.

He felt the tug again, and this time it was harsher, and more urgent. His head pounded and his vision went white, and he felt the house around him; an ominous presence sucking the life from him.

Cursing, he clutched at the bedding and did what he’d always done when he needed to draw his own power. While he could sense it, he could hardly control it. He didn’t share Dick’s soul anymore, and was off balance, and the power he did have was being drained far too quickly. It was an anchor thrown from the side of a vessel, its tethered rope hurtling after it while clumsy hands struggled to get a hold.

Damian’s eyes went wide when he realized he couldn’t stop it.

“Dick,” he breathed, crawling onto all fours, not panicking, but not sure what to do, either. When Dick simply shifted, Damian called for him louder, wondering what would happen when the rope ran out. When the house had absorbed all of his power, what would happen to him?

“Mm,” Dick sighed, and rolled onto his side. “Nightmare?”

Damian rolled his eyes with little humor. “My power’s draining.”

In an instant, Dick was moving, pushing himself up, and rubbing his eyes groggily. “What?” he asked, and he was reaching for the lamp on his bedside table.

“I can’t control it,” Damian was trying, but the energy was slipping from his mental grasp. “The house is taking it.”

“Did the power that Tim give you run out already?” The lights were on and Dick was at his side, placing a hand on his back, his features painted with harsh strokes of worry. “He gave you a lot of power-”

“He also did a more complicated seal,” Damian felt a shock of pain ripple up his spine, and he dropped to the bed, muffling a cry against the comforter. Dick was scrambling from the bed, racing to his dresser to get his chalks, his feet thumping against hardwood.

“Don’t-” Damian peeled his face up just enough to make the command, and from across the room, Dick failed to listen. Tools in hand, he was skidding back, dropping to the floor, and scribbling an intricate design on the floor, his fingers practically flying as he whipped out a sigil.

“Dick, you can’t-”

“It will buy us time,” Dick told him. “If you at least use some of my energy, we can get Alfred to -”

“Dick.” Damian stated, very seriously, cringing through his words. The other man looked at him, pausing in his work, desperation in his eyes.

Damian shook his head. “You don’t have any energy to give to me.”

At this, Dick summoned a rare expression. He was angry. “Don’t underestimate me,” he said, and when he heard the sharpness in his tone, he remedied it with a quick shake of his head. “It’ll just be a little. Just enough so that the worst doesn’t happen.”

The worst being something Damian didn’t want to think about. Mostly because he’d been thinking about it a lot, and his regret was turning into determination to figure out a way to fix what he’d undone.

He watched as Dick finished the sigil, gritting his teeth through the pain. Dick made quick work of finishing it before making a small cut on his thumb, just enough to get a bubble of blood. He smeared it in the circle of the sigil and reached up to Damian, who clasped his hand and allowed himself to be dragged down onto the floor.

When he found himself on top of the symbols, he felt immediate relief, and his eyes widened.

“Dick, this is too much -”

Dick was already moving out of the circle, and wiping his thumb on his jeans.

“Stay there,” he instructed, and was already headed for the door to his room. “I’ll be back in no time.”

Damian felt anger well inside of him, tinged with something else - was it fear? He hardly ever felt fear, but it hit him now, like a train, as he realized that Dick was giving him more than just enough energy to cling to consciousness.

“Damian.” Dick said again, looking for proof that he’d obey, and wouldn’t leave the sigil.

Fingernails biting into the hardwood floors, Damian frowned and looked away, which was as close to an agreement as he was willing to give.

It was enough, because Dick took off.

It was only a moment later that the power went out.

 

***

Tim’s breath caught in his throat and he blinked a few times, trying to adjust to the sudden loss of light. Fear tempted goosebumps to rise on his arms, not only because Ra’s’ words were ominous, but because he could feel something in the house - a presence seeping through corridors, thick and chalky and suffocatingly dark.

“What do you mean, it’s started?” he asked the demon. He could hear Jason shuffling around, cursing as he felt his way through the kitchen, searching for something that could aid them since they were trapped.

“Have you ever stopped to wonder why, with all of the wards to keep demons out of this place, you and Damian have no problems residing here?” Ra’s sounded gravely serious, and his words sent a chill up Tim’s spine.

“It’s your blood, Timothy,” Ra’s said to him. “Yours and Damian’s. Yours because I have possessed you, and Damian because he is my kin. My blood is within the both of you, and its power is now circulating the house, protecting it, giving you clearance…but there is another who shares Damian’s blood. The one he inherited it from.”

A nameless gravity stole the air from Tim’s lungs, and he gasped, bowing over as he struggled to breathe.

Talia?

“Jason,” Tim breathed, terrified. He’d never felt something so ominous; so powerful that he felt like he was being crushed. Even on his toughest cases, or in seeing and experiencing the worst of people’s memories, he’d never felt so powerless.

“She can use your seal to her advantage.” Ra’s told him.

Jason was digging through drawers, and so Tim forced his voice to be louder. “Jason!”

“What?” Jason snapped, and by the sound of his voice, it was clear that he didn’t feel the sudden shift in temperature, or sense impending danger.

Tim stared out into the darkness, unable to move, his tie to the house linking him to every shadowed footfall that drifted closer and closer to where he was.

“She’s coming,” he almost whispered, and his fingers dug into the tiled floor. His eyes began to water, and every time his adrenaline was tempted to kickstart, it was pushed back, repressed by the stifling amount of demonic energy that was saturating the manor.

Jason stalked up beside him, cursing when he bumped into the island, and asked, “What? Who?”

Tim shifted just enough to try and find Jason in the darkness. It was a failed effort; not even Jason’s silhouette could be made out. Pitch black, the manor was terrifying, and Tim managed to move and tried to reign in his mounting panic.

“We need to get out of here. Now.” Forcing himself up, Tim grabbed at the island and pulled himself to his feet, sucking in a breath as he reached out wildly, his fingers searching for the athame. He was desperate, and was inches from the blade’s handle when the door to the kitchen flew open.

“Jason? Tim?”

It was Dick, and he sounded panicked. Tim wondered for a moment if he could sense the danger too; the invisible fog that was curling in from the shadows, seeking them out.

“I’m tempted to give you a piece of my mind,” Jason voiced to the darkness, before relenting. “Get us out of this. Where’s Damian?”

At the sound of Damian’s name, Tim felt an odd thrum of energy pulse through the blackened house, and he sank back down to the floor.

“You two don’t feel it?” he asked, his voice weak.

“They’re not like you,” Ra’s answered. “No one is like you, which is why I need to keep you alive. She’s waiting, Timothy. You can feel it, can’t you?”

He could, and the knowledge had his breathing running ragged. Talia was somewhere. Somewhere close. In the house. Lurking, waiting for something. Looking for someone.

Looking for him.

Dick nearly tripped over him, arms outstretched as he pawed for the island. Tim sat, motionless, heart pounding, as Dick muttered an apology and pawed around for the blade.

Shaking his head in disbelief, Tim asked, “Did she track you here? I thought the seals hid the pit’s power. Shouldn’t they hide yours, too?”

“A good question,” Ra’s told him, and if he had intended on elaborating, he didn’t get the opportunity - Tim felt the exact moment that the containment conjure lifted, and he stood, hesitantly. It felt like the room could swallow them whole; like there were no safe exits. As if Talia were everywhere.

“ - got it running to give a bit of my energy to him, until we can get the seal worked out -” Dick was talking, and his voice caused Tim to dip back into his right mind, and not the one ruled by fear.

“He’s alive?” Tim asked, confused because he didn’t feel Damian at all.

“Yes,” Dick told him.

“Let me get this straight,” Jason said. “Damian’s upstairs living off your life energy because Tim’s ran out?”

Tim knew that if the power was on, and they could see each other, Jason would be throwing him a look that said, what the hell kind of seal did you activate?

And the truth was that he didn’t know. He had created it almost instinctively, and couldn’t repeat it if he tried. He remembered his thought process, and the feeling of merging he and Damian’s blood rite, and the look in Jason’s eyes when he’d told him to expel some of his power and gift it to the teenager.

Tim’s eyes widened. He felt Ra’s come to the same realization, because the demon gasped.

“She’s going to think that you…” Tim’s words trailed off, and then he pulled his attention back to Jason and Dick, who were going back and forth with different remedies to their current situation.

“Guys,” Tim said, but his voice didn’t carry.

“I’m telling you, you can’t keep that sigil up,” Jason was saying, and Dick sounded equally as frustrated.

“I get it, but he doesn’t have the power. So we need to -”

The house released an earthy groan, one that seemed to flare from its very foundation. It caused Jason and Dick to go quiet, at least until Jason voiced, “What was that?”

Tim took a deep breath. “She’s in the house,” he told them, and then, after shaking his head, he amended, “Talia. Talia is here. I think she felt when I changed the seal.”

There was a minute pause before Jason and Dick both exclaimed, “What?!?”

“I know that I’m new to this,” Tim told them, “but I think that, when I merged energy with Damian, she felt it. She and Damian, they share the same energy, right?”

“You’re talking about Talia’s demon?” Jason asked, and when Dick started yanking open drawers, he questioned, “What are you looking for?”

There was a pause in commotion and a sharp sound, followed by the smell of sulfur. A small light flickered into existence, and Dick’s face was suddenly lit by the small match in his hand. “Under the sink,” he waved off Jason. “There are emergency candles. Get one?”

Jason groaned but moved anyway, per the request. He tossed Tim a glance, with a raised eyebrow. “You said Talia. It’s not Talia. She’s dead.”

He sounded certain, and inside Tim’s head, Ra’s seemed aggravated.

“You didn’t burn the body.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Tim asked, drawing a look from Dick.

“What’s the old man saying?”Jason asked, as he returned with a candle, and Dick swiped it from him, and lit it quickly, hissing when the flame devoured too much of his matchstick.

“If Talia is anything like you, it is entirely possible that she managed to live.”

“What does that even mean?” Tim droned, tired of Ra’s’ answers, since they mostly only led to new questions. Shaking his head, he looked towards the other two in the room.

“He says that if she is anything like me, it makes sense that she’d be alive,” he told them. He frowned, remembering something Ra’s had said earlier. “Also that he needs to keep me alive, because, and I quote, no one is like me.”

“Well, duh,” Jason noted. “You’re like a luxury high-rise condo for the undead. Tell him he’s lucky you don’t charge rent.”

“So Ra’s thinks it’s Talia?” Dick seemed troubled, and his attention flickered towards the doorway.

Tim knew what he was thinking without him having to say anything. Apparently, so could Jason.

“We should head Damian’s way,” he expressed, and he started for the door, Dick close behind. Tim took a step forward, and an icy chill shot through him. He stopped, and felt the inky blackness that surrounded him seep in closer.

“Get to Damian,” Ra’s commanded, and Tim wasn’t eager to obey. Not only because he didn’t trust Ra’s, but because he was terrified of what he couldn’t see.

“Tim,” Jason popped back in through the doorway, barely visible. Only the curve of his face was lit from the candle, and he raised an eyebrow. “You okay?”

Tim took one step forward, and then another.

“She’s really powerful,” he admitted warily, hearing the anxiety in his voice. “And angry. She’s looking for me.”

This gave Jason cause to don a more concerned expression, and he reached out a hand. Tim eyed his fingers briefly, knowing that the offer was a sure sign of their newly reached pact. He gratefully took it, and let Jason pull him from the kitchen. Soon they were booking it down blackened halls, trailing after Dick, who was doing his best to keep their emergency candle lit as they made their way upstairs.

Tim couldn’t see the steps beneath him, and simply decided to trust his feet. He looked anywhere but down, and something caught his attention from above. His grip tightened on Jason’s hand, which earned him a “What?”

“Jason, look up,” he demanded, and as they reached the next floor, Jason whirled around and obeyed, shock painting his features when he saw what Tim was seeing.

Thousands of eyes littered the darkness, some dark, some red, but their whites all the same - unspeakably obvious against the charred backdrop of night.

“Well,” Jason tried to hide his concern with humor. “That’s not natural.”

Tim knew without anyone having to tell him that the eyes belonged to demons. He could hear the skittering of feet now, of claws against wood and tile, and the sharp intakes of breath.

“My League…” Ra’s murmured, and Tim immediately remembered Jason mentioning Ra’s’ followers from the past. The demons he’d collected; the ones that obeyed him.

One of them shrieked and Tim jolted to a stop, his heart pounding. He lost Jason’s hand in the process, and felt his pulse skitter as he reached forward, groping the darkness out for it.

Fingers clasped his and he felt a nearly electric pulse. He felt his blood run cold as images constructed of pain and fury and red vengeance bled into his vision.

“Well, well, father,” a silky voice grabbed his attention, and had his stomach twisting. “I’m here to kill you.”


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Finale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all of my readers for the long, long, long road to this finish line. Truthfully, after I posted Chapter 21, I realized I had so so so many loose ends to tie up, and...I panicked. I felt overwhelmed and I couldn't step far enough back to think up readied solutions, and because of that, this story has just kind of...sat for a few years.
> 
> In the interim, I learned a lot about myself. I kind of figured out that writing is...really, it's what I want to do. I want to be published, I want to just write write write. I definitely don't want to be 'that fic author' that has so many unfinished pieces, and so...this chapter was my commitment to myself and also to my readers. A dedication for things to come.
> 
> IMPORTANT:  
> -In order to piece things together, a had to go back and rework some small details in previous chapters. They're not huge, but they may make a difference, if you'd prefer to go back and reread. That being said, if you DO happen to go back and reread, and find anything odd, please let me know! I tried to catch everything but sadly I am only human.
> 
> -There will be an epilogue. I'll be posting tomorrow, most likely. :)

Something rescued Tim from the onslaught of terrifying images invading his mind.

Crumpling to the floor, he breathed deep and felt chaos surrounding him - and in the dark, could only imagine what was happening. Footsteps fell beside him and he heard Jason ask if he was all right, but his voice was muffled under the sound of screeches and thick, fluttering wings that sounded like bolts of tarpaulin slapping together.

Tim wondered what the creatures looked like; this league that Ra’s had, that was now frantically swarming the small hallway leading to the bedrooms.

He wondered where Talia had disappeared to, and how far separated he was from Jason and Dick.

The darkness whispered.

Eyes watched him.

The floor reverberated with the steady thump of moving feet and crash landings, and for a moment, Tim could have sworn something stood behind him, breathing down his neck.

Crawling on the floor, he fumbled forward, knees knocking against hardwood. He did his best to get as far from the hushed voices as possible. He felt for a wall, even heard Ra’s call out to him. He ignored it, adrenaline rushing as he scrambled to find a safe place.

“Tim, where the hell are you?” Jason barked, and then snapped, “Just hold out a bit longer - any minute—” A sharp screech drowned out his words, and Tim swallowed.

Any minute _what?_

Something slid past him, thick-skinned and hot against the fabric of Tim’s shirt. The sheer surprise of it sent him tumbling sideways, feeling for something, anything to grasp onto, so that he could pull himself to his feet.

 _“Get back to the others,”_ Ra’s’ voice cut through, and Tim stared blankly into the darkness.

Easier said than done, he thought. It was impossible to see anything.

At least until the generator kicked in.

Scores of blackened shadows took to the walls; unearthly creatures raced to every dark corner they could find. Tim watched them with quiet fascination, his heart thudding against his chest.

From across the room, Dick huffed a sigh of relief.

Tim gasped as cold fingers gripped his arm and yanked him to his feet. Painful images dredged to the forefront of his mind, but somehow he managed to look at her - to see Talia, even though he’d only seen her in memories.

He’d expected her to be stunning. In Jason’s memories, she was all fire, with flushed cheeks and winding curves and a gaze that could bring empires crumbling to the ground.

This Talia was different. Dark hair still fell in groves over her shoulders and her presence was perilously regal, but the flesh beneath her eyes peeled to reveal bone. She’d devolved to sharp angles, all skin clinging to bones, human only in silhouette - a walking death driven by willpower alone, eyes half-devoured by time, lips beginning to rot.

“Follow me and I _will_ kill him,” Talia stated, her voice grating as if she had little of one left. She was staring at Jason and Tim when the lights flickered off once more.

Tim winced when she yanked him forward and dragged him through a nearby door, into a room.

Dick’s room.

Tim knew because his eyes immediately found Damian - powerful Damian whom had had powers Tim could hardly believe, whom Tim had never doubted could handle himself.

That same Damian was staring at Talia, white as a sheet, eyes made bright by a sigil glowing from the floor below him.

It was the first time Tim had seen him at a loss for words.

Talia’s fingers bit into the skin of Tim’s neck and she forced him down to the ground not far from where Damian sat. He was fully prepared for an onslaught of images the moment his fingers touched the hardwood flooring – but nothing came. He imagined there was a luathindri knot drawn somewhere and counted his blessings, however small.

“I made a promise once, that I would always protect you,” Talia spoke to Damian, and Tim stared at the teenager, trying to gage his reaction. The teenager was glued to her, his expression torn between terror and shock and Tim decided that Damian must have felt it too – the pure power that seeped out from her, unchecked and unimaginably dangerous. “My son. My Damian. We’ll kill him together, yes?”

Damian’s eyes left Talia’s in favor of Tim’s. He looked terrified; Damian had no idea what to do. He had no power, was surviving off whatever life Dick had to give - couldn’t fight, couldn’t act.

That, and the woman – the bony, skeletal figure looming behind Tim, was his mother.

Or what was left of her, at least.

Tim clenched his eyes closed for one moment and took a deep breath. He had to stay calm - had to think. When he opened them, he saw movement to his right. Beyond the doorway.

Jason and Dick?

Catching Damian’s attention once again, Tim mouthed, “Buy time.”

And Damian, swallowing thickly, decided to obey.

“Where…” Damian’s gaze lifted, and his pale lips moved to form the rest of his question. “Where have you been? All of this time – everyone thought you were dead.”

Laughter fell in ripples, and Tim hissed when she pressed a knee to his back, forcing him lower.

“I’ve been…” she grew serious as she thought about it. “I woke in my coffin the moment that I felt him. I rose to protect you. God surely heard my prayer, my dying wish. And so I was bestowed with demons – that man’s demons – and one by one, they’ve sought him out. And now, here, I’ve found him.”

Tim swallowed and waited for Ra’s to say _something_ – anything. To lend him advice or wisdom - to give direction, because Tim was hesitant to do anything, knowing Talia’s strength, knowing that so many lives were in her hands.

“I’d say it’s a shame that this man must die with him,” Talia stepped away from Tim, and circled him. Arms crossed over her chest, she breathed, “But I can feel it. They’re one now.”

Tim tilted his head to look her in the eye and felt his gut twist when he realized that she wasn’t looking at him. She was staring towards the blackened outer hallway, irritated. Lifting an arm, she motioned something forward, and Dick came skidding across the floor, only to come to an abrupt halt as soon as Talia lifted the palm of her hand to face him.

“You can’t hide from me. Not in this house, with Damian’s blood circulating the seal. His blood and my blood are the same, or have you forgotten, Richard?”

Dick’s expression was nothing but controlled fury. “I’m the only thing keeping him alive right now, so I’d avoid doing anything hasty,” he stated, still within her power’s grasp.

The smallest sliver of quiet passed before Talia simply hummed to herself. “That won’t be a problem for long. And Jason,” her words grated, “do not be childish enough to assume that you can kill me with that.”

Tim twisted his head, just barely, and saw Jason standing in the doorway, arm outstretched, pistol in hand. The look in his eyes was calculating and composed. He wasn’t threatened; he was doing what he did best, holding his ground.

“Who’d be dumb enough to try and kill you?” Jason asked. “You’re already dead.”

Tim winced when Talia slammed a stiff foot into his back, a sharp pain erupting over his ribs. “I can kill him faster than you can shoot me.”

“Sure about that?” Jason questioned, and Tim, swallowing hard, finally found his voice.

“Jason, kill her.”

Talia drove her foot down against Tim, causing him grit his teeth as a sharp sound came tumbling from his throat.

Jason looked agitated, gaze drifting between Talia, Damian, and Tim.

Reluctantly, he dropped the gun.

“Good boy,” Talia sighed, and then she moved just enough to sink to a crouch, running her bony fingers through Tim’s soft, matted hair.

“Recreate my son’s diadem,” she ordered, soft and delicate, like her words alone might bring the command to life.

It took Tim a moment to realize that she was talking to him. He twisted his head to look her in the eyes, baffled.

“What?” he asked, before throwing a bewildered look to Damian.

Unsurprisingly, Damian wasn’t looking at him, he was staring intently at Talia. “There’s no way he could create something so complex.”

It was a half-truth, and Tim couldn’t tell if it was meant to save his life or keep him from using Ra’s’ power.

Talia rolled her eyes and tossed a quick look to Jason before lifting her arm and whipping it to the side. Jason’s body mimicked the movement, and he was sent flying across the room before a wall broke his momentum.

Tim whirled, following the movement, heart pounding. “Jason -”

Sharp nails dug into his shoulder, drawing blood. “The diadem,” Talia snarled.

From behind them, Jason’s voice half-wheezed, “Fucking _hell…_ ”

A slow panic began to set in, causing Tim to shake his head. “I don’t know how,” he said. “I don’t know how to make a diadem, I haven’t -”

“Maybe next I’ll break Jason’s back,” Talia sighed airily.

Tim bowed his head down and clenched his eyes closed. _Tell me how to do it,_ he thought, reaching for Ra’s. _I need to you tell me._

His mind was quiet.

 _Ra’s,_ he tried again. _Please._

Damian’s voice sounded when Ra’s’ didn’t.

“I can show you.”   From across the room, Jason cursed, and even Dick breathed, “Damian, don’t—”

Stretching out his hand, Damian motioned for Tim to take hold of his fingers. The invitation had Tim’s eyes widening, and slowly, he shook his head.

“But if I -”

“It’s nothing you haven’t seen before,” Damian stated. He didn’t look happy about it, but his mind was on the same track as Tim’s. They’d been backed into a corner, and their options were limited.

Reluctantly, Tim threw out his arm and touched his fingers to the teenager’s.

Blue colors, intricate designs. A web of symbols that Tim didn’t understand or recognize flooded his mind. Nothing too difficult to remember – at least not for someone with a memory like Tim’s – and so he broke contact with Damian before pushing in further than he needed to, but still found himself panting, as if separating himself was harder than he would have expected it to be.

“The house is taking a lot of my power,” Tim found himself whispering, eyeing Damian with worried eyes. “I don’t know if what I’ve got will be enough.”

Damian gave him a look that meant he wasn’t all too sure either, but Tim realized that it didn’t matter. Whether or not he had it, he needed to try, because no alternative existed. At the moment, they all seemed to be at the mercy of Talia.

“Chalk,” Tim said, louder so that Talia could hear it. “I can’t do anything without making a sigil.”

Impatience drove Talia to bark orders at Dick, demanding that he retrieve what Tim needed.

Dick looked tempted to refuse.

“Just do it,” Tim told him. Ignoring the fact that Dick’s face had paled a bit, revealing dark circles under his eyes, Tim swallowed and added, “Dick, do it. We don’t have much time.”

 _You_ don’t have much time is what he meant to say, because the chalked markings below Damian were wearing out. How much time did either of them _really_ have?

Luckily, Dick obeyed - scoured his bedroom for a stick, teeth visibly clenched behind pinched lips.

“Give it to me,” Talia demanded, holding out her hand, causing Dick to pause and meet her gaze briefly, frowning. The debate was evident in his eyes, but once again, Tim broke his train of thought.

“Dick.”

A plethora of emotions flickered through Dick’s eyes - fear, anger, reluctance, guilt. He passed along the chalk and Talia looked annoyed as she dropped it next to Tim, from a height that it cracked into two pieces.

“Work,” she demanded.

Tim’s heart pounded. The images Damian had given him were clear in his mind. It was hard to believe that he’d first come to Gotham less than two weeks ago - he’d always thought that the thing he had to fear most was himself.

But this, he thought, gaze dancing between Dick and Damian – this, he considered, feeling the weight of Ra’s’ power inside of him, remembering all of what Jason had done as a means to protect him.

_This was worse._

Talia made a sound – an annoyed sigh that brought Tim back to the present, to the task at hand. His mind raced as he crawled forward, lips pinching together.

He began drawing, the movements coming easily enough. He wondered again if he had enough power; his own diadem kept so much of Ra’s’ contained, and he had no idea what would happen if he exhausted what was accessible to him.

Would he die?

 _Don’t do something stupid,_ Ra’s finally came forward enough to be heard, and Tim swallowed while drawing slow, tenuous lines on the floor.

 _Ra’s_ , Tim thought, feeling his pulse go sluggish. _Is there a way to fix this?_

The room around Tim had faded, the sounds surrounding him turning hazy and distant. The electric buzz of pure energy had Tim’s arms standing on end, and the feel of Talia was like a seeping shadow, a darkness threatening to blanket him.

 _I thought you didn’t trust me,_ Ra’s stated, bemused.

 _I don’t._ Tim chewed his lower lip. _But I remember what you first said to me - that one day I would need you, and that you’d want something in return. So…what do you want?_

Markings came to life under Tim’s fingertips as he waited for Ra’s to answer. He wondered what it meant to make a deal with the devil; thought that maybe it would be worth it to protect Dick and to keep Damian alive.

 _Timothy, Timothy, Timothy…_ Ra’s sounded less teasing than usual, and unusually serious. _Why risk so much for people you hardly know?_

Tim thought the answer was easy. _I don’t want anyone else to die because of me._

Thinking it felt like overturning a rock, finding mold beneath it.

_This all started because of the gate – because I let you out. Damian…he wouldn’t have broken the bond with Dick if my powers hadn’t…if he hadn’t seen…_

A cold sweat erupted on Tim’s forehead, and goosebumps pebbled his arms. His entire being was a lead weight, sinking under a strong tide he couldn’t stop.

 _I altered the house’s wards,_ Tim thought. _Everything is my fault._

Jason had once called him dangerous.

Tim had been stupid enough to think he had everything under control.

 _What do you want from me?_ Ra’s questioned, waiting for Tim to say the words, to commit to the request.

Tim’s vision blurred, only to come into focus on his shaking hand. His fingers were caked in chalk dust, and he could distantly hear Dick’s voice, low and concerned, calling his name.

He understood what Ra’s was asking for.

 _I want you to fix Dick and Damian’s diadem,_ Tim thought, throwing a loose smile Dick’s direction before continuing to draw. He didn’t let his gaze linger, didn’t want Dick to see through him, to figure out what he was doing. I want you to remove your power from this house’s wards. _I want you to swear you will never come back here, that you will never step foot within this estate again, and that you will leave Damian alone._

The demand barely sat for a moment before Ra’s laughed, and the sound resonated through Tim like something tangible.

_And what exactly am I getting in return for all of these requests?_

“Me,” Tim breathed, not noticing the way Damian’s head raised, one eyebrow lifting in question.

A thread of approval came weaving; it was a string of power that Tim knew he could grasp. He looked up as he finished the last marking and caught Damian’s eyes with his own.

“I’m sorry.”

Damian’s eyes went wide as he caught on, and his lips moved to speak.

Tim didn’t hear the reprimand. He let himself fold back and into the darkness, drowning in the darkest recesses of his heart as Ra’s came forward to take control.

***

Jason assumed, after spending so many years with the Chival, that eventually, things _would_ just make sense. He’d have enough knowledge that there would be no paranormal mysteries, that handling things like the _undead_ would be textbook. Stake through the heart, salt over the shoulder – situation resolved; moving forward.

That wasn’t the case.

It was _never_ the case.

The Chival only taught underlings what it deemed worth knowing, even though thousands of texts existed. Texts that probably explained what to do when things like this happened – when some halved-demon managed to survive in a host for nearly a _decade;_ what needed to be done in order to get rid of it.

Damian made the situation _even more_ complex – after all, since he was the second half of said demon, who was to say that killing Talia wouldn’t kill him as well?

All mysteries, never any answers. Things only the council knew, the council Bruce trusted so much, the council he so often left to consult regarding the seals that he was in charge of.

The seals that had recently broken, releasing Ra’s – the seals that had been fixed, using that same demon’s power.

Everything was a mess.

Everything had always _been_ a mess.

And all it took was one goddamn psychic to come tearing down the mask of control they’d managed to keep in place.

Jason blinked when the lights flickered, the darkness causing his vision to strain. He hated not being able to act, hated _waiting_. Hated watching Talia loom over Tim as he traced patterns onto the floor – hated the way Dick and Damian kept throwing glances at each other because they were so _damn bad_ at _talking_ , and couldn’t just say what was on their mind.

Tim paused, just enough that Jason caught the break in movement. He was close enough to hear Dick voice Tim’s name in concern, and Jason felt his own heartbeat take a galloping step forward.

Tim.

Tim had _nothing_ to do with this.

At the same time, he had everything to do with every single thing that had gone wrong.

Jason swallowed, because he knew that wasn’t right. It never had been; Tim wasn’t really to blame. It was their fault, _Bruce’s_ fault – _Ra’s’_ fault, even – but not Tim’s. Jason hated to admit it, but Tim was different than other psychics – he didn’t feel deserving, or entitled to anything because of his gifts.

If anything, that pissed Jason off more.

How was he supposed to feel about someone so powerful, who seemingly lived for everyone except himself? It was annoying, because here they all were – once again, battling things they didn’t understand.

Jason felt the change though, the sudden shift in room temperature. It only took him a second to find Damian’s white eyes in the dark room, momentarily wide before infuriated – but Tim looked like _Tim_ , and he was leaning forward, placing his palms flat to the sigil he’d drawn…

…and the power that came out sent a cold chill racing Jason’s spine because it was _copious_ and _flooding_ , and seemed to consume the room.

Jason tasted sulfur before he recognized the blank look in Tim’s eyes – could see him clearly now because the power came back on. Talia stumbled back, eyes intent on Tim, and Jason wasn’t surprised when she said, “Oh. So you’ve decided to say hello.”

Jason crawled along the floor, rounding the island in order to get closer to Dick and Damian. He was quiet about it, though he figured Talia would have enough of a distracted from Tim – and tried not to think about the fact that Tim had slipped under – _again._

Only he hadn’t. This was different.

“In all honestly, young Talia,” Tim said, though the lilt to his words gave away the control Ra’s so obviously possessed, “We are a bit past _hello’s_ now, aren’t we?”

The tone’s effect was immediate; Dick’s eyes flickered to Tim’s rising form just before dancing to find Jason’s – and whatever he saw on Jason’s face, he didn’t like. Jason couldn’t blame him, after all, his connection to Tim made the danger all-the-more obvious.

There was something else though - a stunned look, paired with Dick’s splaying a hand flat against his chest.

Jason’s gaze darted to Damian, who looked equally as surprised.

It wasn’t rocket science.

It was, perhaps, a miracle. Their diadem had been restored.

“Impossible,” Talia slipped backwards a step, the remains of her lips pinching together. “What is it you’re trying to do? Drive your precious host to an early grave?”

Tim sighed, and eerie sound that didn’t belong to him. Ra’s was obviously entertained, and Jason hated to admit that he was in line with Talia.

All this power, the pure, saturating _weight_ of Ra’s - how could Tim possibly survive it?

“I’ll tell you a secret,” Tim looked old as he spoke, and Jason could see Ra’s in the way the corners of his mouth lifted. “A long time ago, the wonderful and glorious Chival realized they’d done something amazing. That, after centuries of diadems and demons, they’d begun to inherit power themselves.”

Jason’s stomach turned. He felt lost for a moment, stumbling to grasp what Ra’s was implying.

Ra’s, speaking through Tim, clicked his tongue. “I’m afraid you’ve been looking at this whole situation a bit too black and white - Bruce’s doing, I suspect. He often sees what he likes to see, and not what actually exists around him.”

“I don’t...” Dick said, looking back and forth between Ra’s’ smiling eyes and Jason’s frown. “I don’t understand…”

It was impossible. That’s what Jason thought as he watched Tim move - saw him crouch to pick up the fallen pistol he’d arrived with, only to examine it with distant interest.

To him, it was probably archaic.

Of course, that didn’t matter. What mattered was what he’d said - what he was implying. What it meant.

A perfect host.

An impossible ability.

Jason swallowed against the tightness in his throat. “He’s saying that Tim’s power isn’t psychometry,” he stated, hating the way the realization hit him, felt so damn obvious, made the words burn on his tongue. “Tim’s Chival. _Real_ Chival. Like, direct descendant.”

Dick froze.

Damian drew back in disbelief.

“I do love how careless his family was,” Ra’s said, whimsically. “Leaving the Circle, thinking the order wouldn’t come after them.” He came closer to Jason, brandishing the pistol, looking amused as he prodded the barrel against Jason’s chest. “They must _really_ have wanted to get away.”

Every detail about Tim’s ability raced through Jason’s mind, the pieces fitting together perfectly. It was a terrible truth.

“The Chival, with all of their secrets,” Ra’s went on, speaking through Tim’s lips. “A boy whom, with one touch, could expose them all.”

Jason looked at Dick, who so visibly broke, shaken by the revelation he’d never once pieced together.

“And now Timothy is mine,” Ra’s said.

It was one of the easier decisions Jason had ever made; one he didn’t really have to think about. Maybe they were cornered, maybe not - but he knew diadems better than Ra’s at least, and, well, he’d already died once, right?

He was quick - he always had been; was always the one to catch others off guard.

“I’m sorry,” Jason said, looking Tim straight in the eye - hoping that somewhere in there, Tim heard it.

It was easy enough to catch Ra’s by surprise - he probably didn’t think Jason was the desperate type; he certainly didn’t know Jason well enough to predict his thoughts or figure him out.

Jason grabbed Tim’s arm and lurched forward, making sure he fell flush against the pistol.

Ra’s, caught off guard, fired.

Bone shattered, blood spilled.

Jason smirked against the explosion of pain, thinking the surprised look on Ra’s’ face was worth every firing nerve.

“See you in hell, you sonofabitch.”

 

***

 

The sensation was that of sinking, of drowning under his own weight. Power seeped from every fiber of Tim’s being, pouring out and flooding the sigil beneath him, sprawling up and around him, dragging him into a drugged stupor.

Is this what it felt like to die? Slow, ragged breaths burned his lungs and his skin was surely peeling away; it was as if he was fading to nothing, dissolving into an incandescent darkness. Memories fell through his consciousness like sheeting rain, too small and vivid to make sense, too elusive to catch. In one he thought he saw his mother, her soft eyes paired with a sad smile.

 _“Everything will be okay,”_ she had said, and her words had been feathers lifted against a cloudless sky. _“One day you’ll understand.”_

Tim’s lungs felt heavy, like stones in his chest. His throat was raw, stuffed with cotton. It was with crystal clarity that he heard his mother’s voice again, a warm breath across his ear.

_“I’ll always protect you.”_

The world collapsed, but it was only a dream; Tim came gasping from his dive towards death, blinking hazily, recognizing Jason at first, blearily, the white of his shirt stained with blood.

It felt like a concussion, the way everything moved in slow motion; the way Tim’s thoughts slowly pieced together, as if words were new, as if language was unfamiliar. He’d fallen to his knees, somehow; his body ached. His lips were wet, and his heart trudged so slowly that he was surprised each time it thudded against his ribs, clinging to life.

 _Were Dick and Damian okay?_ Tim wondered, though it was a wisping thought. If their connection hadn’t been restored, there was nothing left for him to do. He felt paralyzed, exhausted - and he thought, with only warmth in mind, that maybe he might sleep and leave all of this behind.

_Timothy._

It came as a demand, and Tim had no energy to grant it. It blurred with real-world sounds; the room around him was a hazy static of muffled voices, and his name was a mantra that echoed in various notes.

Jason’s was too, which was odd; his stomach twisted.

Was someone worried? The idea seemed funny, because Tim wasn’t worried at all; he was content, he was tired, he was ready for the dark tunnel ahead of him, the hands reaching out for him, eager to pull him in.

_Turn around, Timothy._

Something in the darkness wrapped around him, a whispering wind that cradled his cheek and drew his attention backwards. The darkness clung to his back, but a bland, saturating white crawled over him, a garish, stark figure standing in its midst.

_Ra’s._

Tim simply knew.

The demon was long-lined, sharp in a way that painted Damian docile. Black-eyed and thin-lipped, Ra’s stood tall, draped in robes that caught light that didn’t exist, flickering like flaming embers of a dying fire. Tim found that if he looked too hard, he could see the individual threads, that he could hear things; it was a stitchwork of souls.

_Come with me, Timothy._

Ra’s was mad; it showed in his face. Desperate, even.

Tim watched Ra’s’ arm lift; the simple shift of fabric brought a sudden, faded cacophony of sound; silent screams that rippled to fill the space around him just before the darkness smothered them to silence.

Tim felt fingertips trace shapes against his back, following the contours of his spine. The darkness called to him, and he felt drawn to it.

Still, he felt the need to reply.

_I gave myself to you._

Hadn’t he?

 _You were meant for greatness,_ Ra’s said, and his fingers folded as if to say, come closer. _You will only fulfill your true potential with me._

Tim, dazed and tired, shook his head. _I’m not meant for anything,_ he thought.

It occurred to Tim, when Ra’s spoke next, that his mouth didn’t move. In this strange space, only thought existed; it was as if Tim existed inside of himself, as if he’d been dragged to the very core of his being, where Ra’s had existed all along.

 _Timothy,_ Ra’s said. His black eyes seemed glossy, as if they saw much more than Tim could even imagine. _You must know by now._

The words weighed worlds. Tim felt them sink into him like hooks, and the darkness behind him became agitated. Fingertips turned to palms, as if the shadows wished to grab him, drown him.

_I don’t know what you’re talking about._

_You do._

_I don’t-_

_Timothy. Think._

Tim didn’t, but Ra’s did it for him. They shared this place, and Ra’s knew how to navigate the abandoned territories of Tim’s mind, the memories he’d locked and stored and all but thrown away the key.

 _“Everything will be okay,”_ he heard his mother say, again. Her voice was loud, echoing in the space between Tim and Ra’s, folding over Tim’s skin like it was meant to consume him.

Ra’s’ fingers twitched.

The memory came with such intensity that Tim felt starved for breath; he came up coughing at five years old, Janet Drake’s fingers combing his hair.

 _“One day you’ll understand,”_ she said, and Tim’s eyes followed her other hand, watching it lift as if to paint a landscape midair - and across the room, a box of tissue rose from a coffee table and drifted to them, ghostlike.

 _“We’re special,”_ she had said. _“I’ll always protect you.”_

A tissue had tugged itself free from the box and sifted down to his hands, and Tim had grasped it tightly, marveling his mother. The tears that had wet his cheeks began to dry.

 _Protect me from who?_ Tim wanted to ask, but the memory clawed at parts of him he wasn’t ready to see. He’d forgotten about that. He’d forgotten about her. He’d tried so hard not to remember that she had been different too - because in the end, he’d killed her, he’d -

_Timothy._

Ra’s’ voice, a lifeline. It dragged him back to the white space, only this time, Tim felt like he was being peeled raw. He didn’t want to see this, he didn’t want to go back -

 _Remember, Timothy,_ Ra’s commanded, his fingers twitched again.

Another memory.

A gunshot, loud. Tim tucked in a closet, his father begging for more time. Light came through the slats and Tim told himself not to look, but he couldn’t help it.

Weird clothes. Robelike. Odd symbols, long necklaces with crosses, beads, and funny metal engravings that Tim didn’t understand.

_“I’ll get you the money, just don’t -”_

_“A deal is a deal,”_ a voice said. _“And our deal was that you’d pay us to forget.”_

 _“I will pay you,”_ Jake Drake had begged.

The click of a briefcase. _“It’s barely even half,”_ one of the men laughed.

_“Too bad for him.”_

Tim had watched his father fall to the ground, red-faced, pale. _“Don’t take her.”_

 _“Go live a normal life with your normal kid,”_ a man had said.

 _“Don’t take her!”_ Jack had yelled. One of the men moved and Tim didn’t remember the punch, just the blood that had exploded from his father’s nose. He was crying, clawing forward, disappearing from where Tim could see. _“Don’t take her,”_ he kept repeating. _“Don’t take her away from me!”_

The words echoed in the white space and the memory faded, leaving Tim alone, once again, with the demon that possessed him.

 _Why are you showing me this?_ Tim wasn’t speaking, but his words came out weak. He took a step backwards, and Ra’s’ expression darkened - every step closer to the shadow was distance between them.

_You are not a fool, Timothy Drake. Put the pieces together._

_There are no pieces,_ Tim said, because he’d dedicated his life to solving other people's’ mysteries; he didn’t want to think about his own, he didn’t want to see it, didn’t want to remember -

 _How disappointed your mother would be,_ Ra’s stated, his words a far-reaching truth, _to know that she worked so hard to keep you from the Chival, and that you fell straight into their hands?_

The realization came like a sudden drop, Tim’s heart climbing to his throat, the world spinning as small, discarded details came into focus. Smaller recollections of his mother’s ability paired with memories of his father, stern-faced in the aftermath of losing her.

 _“Remember what happened to her,”_ he’d said, countless times, afraid the same thing would happen to Tim. They’d taken her, after all, and all Tim knew was that he’d never see her again.

Those men had meant death.

Somehow, they’d thought he was Jack’s kid. Normal.

 _“You must never let anyone know,”_ his mother had said.

And Tim’s father…

He hadn’t been able to let her go.

Tim remembered now. Jack had kept at it, kept trying to find her, kept getting found himself. Left Tim for days, weeks at a time so he could search, until the men came searching for him, and all Tim could remember was that he couldn’t get caught.

He couldn’t.

So he’d used his ability on his father, and taken all the pins his father had collected as they traveled state-to-state, memorabilia for a child that soon after became a map.

Dick existed in there, somewhere - after all these years he simply bled into the background. Tim had shown him his ability - had been so alone, had pressed his palms together on more than one night, hoping Dick would always be there, would protect him.

 _What am I?_ Tim asked, feeling like he was drowning.

Ra’s’ eyes glinted. _You, Timothy Drake, are a weapon._

The white room quaked. Though Tim existed in his subconscious, he struggled to keep balance. Ra’s’ arm dropped and he turned his attention upward, as if he’d been caught off guard himself, and Tim watched as the whiteness began to crack, as if he’d been boxed by walls the entire time. Over his shoulder, he turned to look at the darkness - it retreated, disappeared into the distance, and Tim thrust his hand out, reaching for fingers that had long since slipped too far from his grasp.

 _Who thought he’d be so reckless,_ Ra’s’ lips curled, agitated. The crackling collapse around them was loud and booming and nearly frowned out Ra’s’ comment. He seemed thoughtful, and his tone matched his intrigue.

In his head, Tim stumbled. In the real world, Tim’s eyes flew open and he went gasping for air, hands clawing until fingers gripped his own. They were Damian’s, and his eyes were wide. He’d lost the gaunt look he’d had before, gained back the sense of power that Tim remembered from when they’d first met. It was an odd feeling, to be so close to it again, to recognize it.

“What…” Tim wasn’t sure what he wanted to ask.

“Shut up,” Damian snapped, his eyes giving away his worry. Tim was on his back, and the boy was hovered over him protectively, Dick standing in front of both of them - and Tim, drawn back to life, was suddenly slammed with the pain that came with it.

Tears flooded his cheeks.

Was his arm broken? His chest? _Something_ was wrong, and he felt it in ways he couldn’t describe - the way he’d grown used to feeling Ra’s’ power had changed, and it was back to tidal waves of uncontrolled energy, leaking like a dam that had suffered a massive rupture.

Talia was ahead of them, smiling raggedly. Tim thought, for a moment, that it was odd.

Couldn’t she feel it?

She wasn’t a match for Ra’s at all, and it was Ra’s power that was surging to life.

It was confusing.

Nothing made sense.

“Come out, come out, father,” Talia urged, and Tim felt an unseeable gravity dig into his stomach, as if she was planning to drag Ra’s out with willpower alone.

A strangled gasp poured from Tim’s lips and Damian yelled at her to stop. His fingers dug into Tim’s skin hard enough to leave bruises, and Tim, still somewhat dazed, only half lucid due to the pain, heard Damian curse.

The power inside of Tim churned.

For some reason, he felt unafraid.

Without really knowing why, he suddenly understood the sensation - knew it was Ra’s power leaving, felt the separation with an odd sense of disbelief and relief.

“Get out,” he barely managed to breathe.

Inside his body, he felt Ra’s react.

Tim’s perspective bled into something unimaginable, what he felt and what he saw were two entirely different things. The feeling was like falling into a frozen lake, getting caught beneath the ice, banging against the underside of a frosted surface hoping that it might splinter. What he saw was fire, great curling tendrils that rose from his skin, that brought to life the shape of a man with glinting eyes and an aura that was death incarnate.

Dick was beside him in an instant, crouched to the side opposite of Damian. The throw of power sent his hair upward and Tim felt the sudden rush of heat bring color to his face.

To Tim, it wasn’t overwhelming - he’d been living with Ra’s inside of him for enough time that it was familiar, and in some abstract way, comforting. He thought, for a moment, that maybe he’d never quite understood how powerful Ra’s was because Damian was left shaking above him, the whole of his being stunned to silence in the wake of something great and vicious.

“Impossible,” Talia said, skirting backwards a step as she watched Ra’s take form. Dick shook his head as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

“The Unholy Days,” he murmured.

A demon strong enough to take physical form.

“No,” Damian murmured. “No, no, no…” and his eyes darted to Tim’s, only he looked baffled - surprised, caught in crushing disbelief. “How are you…”

 _Still alive,_ Tim supplied. He wasn’t sure. The absence of power was a _real_ thing, the cold finally claimed him, and he started shaking, his teeth clacking through shivers.

“I don’t…” Damian started, but the situation had changed, and Talia only had eyes for her father, who swept across the room, looking quite human as the power pulsed and retracted, disappearing into the figure he’d taken.

Tim’s entire being ached.

It felt like something was missing - not Ra’s’ power, but something deeper.

His heart pounded.

Where was Jason?

“Jason -” he tried to gasp, and arms folded around him from behind. It reminded him of something, the second time they’d met - waking to find Jason behind him in the tub of the hotel.

“Breathe,” Jason told him.

Tim hadn’t realized he’d stopped, and when he inhaled, it sent an icy curl of pain flooding his lungs. Dick and Damian pressed against him from either side, and the expression on Dick’s face held so much _pain-_

“Just keep breathing,” Jason demanded, and his breath felt like fire on the skin of Tim’s neck. His voice rasped and his chest felt wet, and Tim remembered - it had felt like his shoulder had _cracked_ , and it made _sense-_

“The diadem,” he gasped, and true panic grasped him.

Jason.

Jason.

 _Jason_.

Tim wondered how time could slow, how one moment could last so long. His thoughts sprawled like a canvas, and even though he was navigating what was sure to be shock, he was somehow able to focus. It was the same feeling he got whilst using his powers, an odd sense of the world around him, the slightest changes causing his skin to prickle.

He could _feel_ Ra’s and Talia - thought that maybe he’d been able to feel things like this all along. How many objects had he stumbled across that had inherently felt _bad?_ How many people had he avoided for the same reason?

Tim felt Ra’s’ power like it was his own. Around him, he felt the walls move. It was a strange sensation. He accepted it, teeth clenched.

“Ah, my daughter,” Ra’s said, his words curling like ribbons. “Let’s end this, once and for all.”

Tim felt it; in his mind’s eye, he could see Ra’s’ plan. One of the League demons peeling off the wall behind them, it’s bladelike claws destined for Damian’s heart.

It was a decent strategy.

If Talia didn’t have Damian, she had no purpose.

But Tim _felt_ it - he heard the sound in slow motion, talons scraping against wood paneling. Only seconds to act before Damian would die.

“Tim?” Dick was staring at him, and the word came slow, lethargic.

Tim felt an anger that he’d never felt before.

“STOP.” Tim growled the command and he knew it worked, could sense that the demon had stopped midair, had gone crashing to the floor, desperate to obey.

 _We’ll always be connected,_ Ra’s had once said.

It meant Tim would always carry at least a piece of the demon’s power.

It meant that the League couldn’t tell the difference between them.

“Hmm?” Ra’s said aloud, and his attention drifted from Talia in order to take a look at Tim’s handiwork.

Talia gaped. “You would kill him!” she yelled, and her broken voice made Tim’s skin crawl. “Your own grandson. You were going to kill him!”

“He’s useless,” Ra’s stated, as if it was a known fact. “Timothy, on the other hand-”

Tim grit his teeth when he felt it again, another movement, another wordless command from Ra’s. And, once again, when goosebumps littered his skin, Tim ground out, “I said, _stop.”_

He felt the shadows go still.

Ra’s donned the look of a man so utterly pleased with himself that the corners of his lips couldn’t help but lift.

“Tim,” Jason murmured, quietly. So quietly that it hurt, and Tim couldn’t keep his grasp on the demons he’d managed to stop from moving. Shadows collapsed around them, and for a moment, Tim thought this is it. But the demons didn’t come for him, didn’t try for Damian, or Dick, or Jason.

Talia seemed to expect the flood, but there was little she could do. She barked demands, so used to having the League obey, stunned and toppled and devoured by the creatures that had once shown her allegiance.

A chill raced Tim’s spine when the realization took over - that this could be the end, that Ra’s had regained control of his League, stolen it from Talia, and that at any moment, he could command the death of anyone in this room.

Jason’s arm slipped weakly to Tim’s lap and Tim desperately searched for that feeling, for the shadows, for something he didn’t understand but somehow _knew_. If he could control them, maybe he could make them fight, maybe he could _win._

Ra’s must have read his intent, felt his reach. He turned and gave Tim a knowing eye.

“You should know by now that you are as good as mine,” he stated.

Tim spat, “I will _never_ go with you.” He could feel every subtle shift in the demon’s power. He reached out for the League, for the ones he could touch with his mind, and drove them to stop mid-fight, their snarls so sharp and savage that Tim could practically feel the bloodlust soaking the room.

There was something else, too - a different power, one that came bleeding from a darker depth. One only slightly familiar, because Tim had never felt it whole, unleashed and uncontrollable, like some fury set loose into the world, inhibition lost.

“Get out of my house,” Damian growled from behind. He’d come away from Dick with loathing intent, the whole of his human form swallowed by that of the demon he’d inherited.

Energy flooded. Floorboards ripped up and into the air and a sharp crack split the ceiling. Furniture splintered and devil’s heat sprawled like a wildfire, and Ra’s was left staring, wide-eyed in shock.

“Damian -” he started.

“GET OUT!”

Tim lost his grip on the demons; it severed with such intensity that he was left sucking in sharp breaths of air; he reached reflexively for Jason’s hand and twined their finger together, watching Ra’s frown, just before disappearing altogether.

One minute Tim felt the League, the next, nothing.

A chandelier creaked, pieces of bubbled glass falling, shattering.

Tim heard Damian’s huffed breathing, saw him fall forward. Dick caught him before he hit the floor.

Across the way, he saw Talia’s mangled body, and stranger, thought he saw her twitch.

Tim summoned every ounce of his energy to turn, to get a look at Jason. His pulse raced, he felt the world spin, he thought of everything he’d ever wished for and how this was the one thing he wanted, that Jason _couldn’t_ die.

“Jason…” Tim could barely get the name out; his hands pressed to Jason’s shoulder, where blood had soaked his shirt through. Jason was propped against one of Dick’s dressers, and he took measured breaths, his skin pale.

Tim tangled their fingers again, hoping for something aside from _white_ , wanting more, desperate for it.

“Don’t give me that look,” Jason said, tired. “You psychics cause so much damn trouble.”

Tim’s eyes blurred, wet. “You’re an ass.” He heard sirens and wondered if he was imagining it, if wishful thinking had stolen his thoughts.

“Yeah,” Jason said. “Yeah, I am.”


	23. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At last, everything comes to an end.

“Wrong,” Damian sighed. Then, with more irritation, “Aren’t you supposed to be smart or something?”

Tim, crouched on the floor of an old gothic cathedral, tried very hard not to say something he’d regret. “You can always do it, you know.”

“Or you could  _ learn _ ,” Damian tossed back, and Tim looked up at the teenager in time to see Damian studying his cuticles with minor interest. Candlelight caught him from behind, making him look ironically ethereal.

Tim sighed. “Okay,” he gave in, because it was too early in the day to fall victim to Damian’s anger-mongering. “What’s wrong with it?”

“Not enough curls,” came a voice from behind, and Tim felt himself tense; when Jason dropped beside him, Tim felt a sudden rush of warmth - of awareness. 

Seemingly oblivious to it, Jason leaned forward and stole a chalk piece from Tim’s fingers, a casual brush of skin.

“You’ve got to add a bit more here,” Jason said, his attention focused on the sigil beneath them as he tweaked the shapes Tim had drawn. “Yeah, and if we don’t change this, there’s a chance we might summon the devil himself.”

Tim knew that he should have been watching, but Jason had become an elusive being, intent on giving Tim space. It was rare that they found themselves together, and when they did, there was always this - this  _ heat _ .

“Make sense?” Jason asked, and he tipped his head sideways to glance at Tim, hoping to see some sort of understanding. As usual, he seemed suddenly aware of their proximity, and his knee drew back, as if Jason had realized it might perhaps bump against Tim’s.

“I don’t get how you went from knowing  _ everything _ one moment to practically  _ nothing _ the next,” Damian huffed from above. He’d tipped forward to look over their shoulders, scowling at the markings on the ground. “ _ It’s weird.” _

Tim didn’t think it was that much of a mystery. “Becoming unpossessed probably helped.” 

“Don’t you have a photographic memory?” Damian prompted.

Tim  _ did,  _ but it didn’t really matter. Even if he could remember a handful of sigils or markings, it was a language he didn’t know. A dangerous language, one that could get people killed if he used it incorrectly. 

Ignoring the question, Tim held out his hand and motioned for Jason to drop the chalk piece to his palm. “So,” he started, and when the chalk was back between his fingers, he intentionally drew a swirling shape backwards. “Like this?”

“Oh, for the love of -” Damian threw his hands skyward. “Your problem, Todd.”

Damian’s boots scuffed the floor as he stormed away, most likely going to find Dick, and Tim didn’t dare let his eyes leave the symbol. A long moment passed, one where Tim was left wondering if Jason had seen through him, if he’d caught onto Tim’s trick - and Tim knew immediately he had when Jason replied, “Like this,” just before placing his hand over Tim’s, intertwining their fingers, guiding him through the shape loop by careful loop. 

Tim felt his neck go hot; was keenly aware of the hefty rise and fall of his chest. When the shape was complete, he turned his head, hoping Jason might not run away.

Since when had he ever wanted someone to stay?

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Jason questioned, staring down, past their hands to the giant seal beneath. His jaw was freckled with day-old stubble and his eyes were slightly red.

Tim’s nose crinkled. “Of course,” he replied, loosely. “I’m helping restore all the seals that collapsed.”

It wasn’t what Jason was asking.

It wasn’t a lie though, either. Between Jason and Tim’s diadem breaking, Ra’s separating, and Damian’s power-surging, a lot had gone wrong. Quite a few pieces of the house’s foundation had cracked, breaking seals that had existed for centuries. The quick fix had been Talia - though Tim hadn’t been around for that. Apparently her demon had survived, attached to the ravaged remains of her body, and Damian had tasked it to powering the house seals - effectively freeing Tim and himself from the obligation.

It hadn’t been easy.

They’d burned Talia’s body in the aftermath.

“Ha ha,” Jason feigned amusement, but then his mouth pinched and a deep sigh bled from his nose. He let Tim’s hand go and sat, just before raking finger through his disheveled hair; the movement made him wince, and Tim’s eyes darted to his shoulder.

“Are you -”

“If someone asks me if I’m okay  _ one more time _ , I’m going to shoot myself  _ again _ ,” Jason interrupted, eyes dancing to find Tim’s. It was as close to a glower as he was going to get, but Tim found himself somewhat unaffected. So he copied Jason and sat down as well, stretching his legs out in front of him. 

“You almost died,” he said.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Jason countered.

“I’m really glad that you didn’t.”

A moment passed where the words hung, and Tim found himself drawn to the antiquity of this place; the cathedral smelled of old oak and earth, and the fleeting scent of incense tickled his nose.

“Lucky shot,” Jason said, finally. Tim supposed he was right, though he’d overheard Dick explaining the miracle of it to Damian. Something about the way the diadem worked, how it had reacted; enough of Ra’s’ power had flooded, buffering the blow.

Even still,  Jason’s collar bone had fractured, that he’d lost a frightening amount of blood. The hospital had called it a miracle, and Alfred, whom had called the ambulances to begin with, had been the one to convince the commissioner to drop whatever investigation they were required to begin. 

It was the most the man could do, really - there were still surveillance cameras from Tim’s assault on the precinct, when he’d lost control; Commissioner Gordon urged them all to lay low or “At least, take a damn vacation.”

“I feel like I’ve been running,” Tim said, deciding to meet Jason halfway. “I guess I believed I was doing it  _ for  _ myself, but...I think, all this time, I’ve been running  _ from  _ myself.”

“Yeah, well,” Jason shrugged, “what were you  _ supposed _ to do? When everyone around you is  _ normal _ , I mean…”

Tim’s eyes drifted upward and he followed the sharp angles of the rafters. “My mom could move things with her mind. I’d forgotten. I think I’d thought I’d imagined it, but I remember now. One time I fell off a stool - I just hovered there, midair. I thought it was magic.”

Jason’s gaze was an amazing thing; Tim could feel it the same way he could feel the warmth of a candle, something that lingered against his skin and made him feel oddly at peace.

Tim finally laughed and drew his knees upward; he leaned forward and rested his temple on them, giving Jason a measured look. “Weird, right?”

Jason didn’t seem to know what to say. “I didn’t think people like you existed.”

“People like me,” Tim practically hummed. “Ra’s said that I was a weapon.”

It never failed to surprise Tim just how easily Jason’s mood could shift. One moment he was docile, the next, his lashes fell darkly over his eyes. 

“Whatever that creep said, just forget it. Not worth the brain space.”

Tim decided that was easier said than done. 

“Why did the Chival want my mom then? What happened to her?”

Jason swallowed; it was a visible movement, the up-and-down of his Adam’s apple. The tension in his shoulders returned.

“The Chival fight,” Jason said. “We spend every day making sure the veil between this world and Hell stays sealed. It’s not like...it’s not a club you can just leave. There are punishments for trying.”

Tim felt an unexpected hope. “So...she could be alive?”

Jason’s face fell into shadow, his lips folding to form a sharp line. He didn’t meet Tim’s gaze, didn’t say what he knew would hurt.

Against his ribs, Tim’s heart dragged. 

Jason seemed to notice, and he said, “I’m sorry.”

Tim snorted. “You’ve been saying that a lot lately.”

From beside him, Jason shoved at Tim’s knees, knocking him off balance - it took a moment for Tim to catch himself, and he whirled around, frowning - only to lose his breath, completely stunned when Jason met him there, pressing forward until their foreheads touched.

“I’m not good enough for you,” Jason said, and Tim thought, for a moment, that he saw himself reflected in Jason’s eyes.

“I framed my father and had him arrested,” Tim countered.

“I forced you to do a diadem and refused to trust you.”

“I was possessed by a demon,” Tim offered. “Also, I haven’t even, you know... _ kissed _ anyone in like, five years. Are you sure you know what  _ you’re _ doing?”

Jason managed to look irritated. “I was trying to avoid this conversation.”

“I noticed.”

Jason looked aggravated; an expression that seemed second nature to him. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” Jason admitted, annoyed.

Tim thought it was funny. “I don’t either.”

From behind them, something loud clattered to the ground. Jason and Tim twisted to see what it was, and weren’t entirely surprised to see Damian there, looking completely unamused, eyes darting back and forth between them. Finally, he said, “Has Drake here developed a  _ new  _ ability where seals  _ write themselves _ ?”

“What can Tim do?” Dick asked, curious, coming up from behind. He was wiping his hands on a cloth, and he looked intrigued.

“Apparently, he and Jason can craft sigils with the  _ power of love _ ,” Damian snarked.

Dick raised an eyebrow.

Jason barked, “What?” at the same time that Tim huffed the same thing.

“It’s a good thing Grayson and my diadem is back in working order,” Damian waved them off, not recognizing murder from two feet away. “You people wouldn’t survive a day without me.”

“Well,” Jason said, “the manor barely survived  _ a minute _ .”

“Yeah,” said Damian, hotly. “I’m  _ that _ powerful, Todd.”

Tim shook his head. “How are we even going to fit him in the car?”

From beside him, Jason snorted. “With an ego  _ that _ big, he’s gonna have to walk home.”

Dick was still stuck in the past, intrigued. “Power of love?” he quirked.

“Shut up!” Jason and Tim shouted in unison, their voices echoing against choir pews.

Beyond the cathedral walls, Gotham was a shade darker than the graying sky. The heels of its buildings were tar-stained and marred by dirt, and heavy fog seeped into alleyways. It whispered against windows, like something alive. 

Tim thought it felt like home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so very much for making it this far; I hope that the ride was a fun one! It feels so good to wrap this story up - so weird, at the same time, since I haven't given it a serious look in three or four years. I'm truly appreciative of all the love and support I've received in the interim, all of which pushed me to be brave and draw everything to a close.
> 
> Love to all,  
> -Ladelle

**Author's Note:**

> The Batman universe seems like a good place for a supernatural plot. /D


End file.
